


A Long December

by Promptoschocohoe



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drug Use, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Promptoschocohoe/pseuds/Promptoschocohoe
Summary: After Noctis commits suicide, Prompto is left to pick up the pieces and try to fill in as many blanks as he can. Boyfriends Gladio and Ignis are in the middle of the grief as well, while Nocts father tries to build a friendship with the lover he never knew his son had.





	1. Chapter 1

Prompto eased his hatchback into the dirt, his own unassigned parking spot. He could have parked closer to the lone tree that sat next to the single wide trailer – Noct’s parking spot. Prompto could have, because for the third day in a row Noctis’s midnight blue Nissan was absent, the spot by the tree naked and sore. Prompto bit his cheek. Noct had called three times while he was at work, but didn’t leave a message or text.

Something was off. Noct didn’t call; he barely text anyone, let alone his boyfriend. Prompto briskly exited his car, made his way up the raggedy stairs that led to their front door. He couldn’t wait for the warmer weather, when he and Noct would finally add a porch.

“Noct?” Prompto called against his better judgement. Silence and cold greeted the blonde; he hadn’t expected anything more. Cursing, he fumbled with the thermostat. Noct always left last, meaning he turned the thermostat – and laid out the meat for dinner, and threw whatever laundry belonged in the next cycle; what’s washed in the dryer, what’s dry on the bed, what’s dirty in the washer. Noctis acted like it would kill him to do all three in one day, so Prompto took up folding and helping when he could. As Prompto peeked into his dark bedroom, he was almost sad to see the unmade bed with no clean clothes or Noct laying on it.

Prompto sighed, the heat finally kicking in. He had to bite the bullet. If Noctis wanted to break up, fine. It was his call – hell, it was his place, his land. Noct had taken his mother’s inheritance on his twenty first birthday, barely a year since he and Prompto had begun making out in the back of his dad’s sports car, and bought he and Prompto a small piece of land. He didn’t quite have the money for a big house, a nice car, all the things he thought he’d buy, but he had told Prompto all he needed was him. They bought a rundown single wide and had it moved, the rest of Noct’s money going to a few renovations and a savings account.

And things had been great. Over a year, things had been great. Prompto sagged on the bed, hating how cold the blankets were. Hadn’t they made love here just a while ago? Less than a month, Prompto was sure. Not as often as they used to, but that was normal with work and bills and life. Noct had his moods, and Prompto his insecurities. Neither were perfect people. But they were perfect for each other.

The last fight scared Prompto though. There wasn’t screams, or things thrown. They had both sat in silence after Promptos words, Noctis’s head hung low and his hands in his lap. Promptos own hands lay on the table and his eyes were closed, the answer screaming in the silence.

 _Whatever_ , Prompto thought. _Let’s get this over with._

As Prompto clicked his boyfriend’s contact – averting his eyes as soon as Nocts picture pulled up with his number – and felt a little guilty. He should have called the moment he got in his car to come home. He couldn’t answer at work, and Noct had called at three, ten after, and three thirty, well after his lunch and second break. Noct knew his breaks and that he couldn’t answer calls at work. So why had he waited so late in the day?

“Prom?”

Prompto opened his mouth, words clogged in his throat. The pet name rung in his ear, the only one allowed to call him that was his boyfriend. But who answered the phone was not Noctis – his voice was too deep, gruffy almost. A man, but one much older.

“Prom? This is the name under the emergency contact. Is this who I am speaking too?”

Prompto felt as though he had been sucker punched in the chest. He exhaled loudly into the phone, his mouth opening and closing. He was forming words but couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

“Prompto. Argentum. I’m – I’m Prompto Argentum. Yes. That’s me – who – who’s this? You have my boyfriend’s phone.”

In his apprehension, Prompto had uttered the title the two barely put on themselves, least of all in front of strangers. _Boyfriend_.

“I’m Inspector Crus, from Insomnia County Coroner’s Office. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me.”

Prompto felt the world tilt, as though too much liquor had hit him all at once. He felt sick like it too. If he wasn’t sitting he knew his legs would have given out beneath him.

Prompto was confused and scared and nothing was making sense. If the Inspector hadn’t begun speaking, Prompto would have hung up.

“Your boyfriend – can you tell me his name?”

“What?” Prompto heard the question, it just made no sense.

“Your boyfriend. You said this was his phone. Can you tell me his name?”

“I – well,” a swell of panic burst in Prompto’s throat. “He isn’t really my – we live together is all. Room mates. I pay rent.”

After a pause, Inspector Crus spoke again.

“Right…your room mate. I need to know his name, son, and any identifying characteristics he may have. We’re running prints and dental, but that takes a while. We need to know his parents or next of kin numbers as well, if you know them or anyone that can help. We haven't found any missing person reports, so we assume he wasn't reported missing. He checked in the day before yesterday, so maybe you knew he was going out?”

Blood pounded in Prompto’s ears, in time with the throb of his skull. This wasn’t right. Why didn’t this man know who Noctis was, why did he need dental records? His mouth opened, but this time no sound came out. After another pregnant pause, the Inspector began asking more detailed questions.

“This room mate of yours, what color was his hair? Can you tell me?”

“Black,” Prompto whispered, finding his voice from somewhere with in him.

“And his eyes?”

“Blue.”

 _Please_ , Prompto begged to some deity above him. _Let this be a mistake. Please let Crus say he has green eyes, or brown. Maybe someone stole Noct’s phone, and –_

“I see,” Inspector Crus said calmly. “And would you say he’s about average height – a little under six foot?”

_Five nine._

“Yes.”

There was a pause, followed by a sigh.

“Do you have a friend or someone who can come with you? I’m going to need to see you in town.”

  
**

  
Prompto leaned forward, his forehead against his knees, as Gladiolus drove his sport car down the streets of Insomnia. Prompto’s mouth was dry, and he was thankful Gladio wasn’t talking. He didn’t really know what to say any way. He longed for another cigarette but knew Gladio was going to kill him if he had another in his Camaro; he was lucky to get by with one. He didn’t want to press his luck, if he had any left at all. Keeping low, Prompto searched his pockets for his pack and discovered he only had four left. Maybe Noct –

_Fuck._

Another swell broke in Prompto’s throat. No, Noct couldn’t pick up a pack for him, because he might be laying in a fucking freezer right now.

A heavy, warm hand between his shoulders. It took Prompto a minute to realize he was sobbing aloud, but dry, choked sounds, like a strangled animal.

“I’m here,” Gladio said. “I’m here. Me and Igs too, okay?”

Prompto shook his head. Ignis was home, cooking Iris dinner. Prompto wasn’t sure what Gladio told Ignis or his little sister, but it couldn’t have been the whole truth, at least not to Iris. She was only nine, she couldn’t know. It would hurt too bad. Fuck, Prompto was grown and this hurt too bad.

It briefly crossed his mind how Gladio was holding up so well. He had known Noctis longer, he and Ignis both. Their fathers had all been friends, CEOs and the like. Noct didn’t really talk about his dad; Prompto didn’t really know if they got along well or not. What about all their dads, what did Gladio’s dad even do before he passed, leaving him and his little sister orphans three years ago?

Prompto hadn’t asked. He hadn’t really known Noctis at the time, or his two friends. He had met Noct while he was setting up his photographs and paintings for an art show before he dropped out of community college. He had been twenty only a few months and still shy about his work; he was sharing a booth with two other art students. He hadn’t planned on selling any of them, let alone before the show even begun, but before he knew it a young man was scanning the paintings. He looked at them the way most people did – a few seconds, searching for colors and shapes and moving on. But his eyes stopped on one of Promptos, staring so long the blond had gotten uncomfortable. He put on his best smile and approached, but the young man had looked up and met his eyes, and the words that left Noctis’s mouth have burned into Prompto’s memory.

“Here,” Gladio said softly, taking his hand from Prompto and putting his car in park. Prom took a deep breath before slowly raising. He hadn’t had anything to eat today except a pack of crackers and he hadn’t had anything to drink in hours. Still, his stomach turned. He wasn’t ready, but he wasn’t being asked. The two exited the car and made their way to the brick building, the sun setting in their eyes. Gladio, one hand on Prompto’s shoulder, led him to a chair in the waiting area while the larger man went to speak to the man at the front desk. Prompto missed the touch as soon as it was gone – calm and steady, but not controlling. That was Gladio. Prompto was suddenly glad he was here with him, although Ignis would have been a big help too.

Gladio sat next to him, his elbows against his knees and palms rubbing dryly together.

“A few minutes,” Gladio stated. “They’re gonna … get it out.”

Bile rose in Prompto’s throat. _It._ Of course, it may not be Noct. Crazier things have happened, right? It could all be a mix up, Noct could be at his dad’s cooling off, or at the cabin, or at the trailer wondering where the hell Prompto was because he was ready to dump him. Yeah, Prompto would rather be dumped any day than be in the situation he was in now.

“Mr. Argentum?”

Prompto’s lifted his head to see an older man, Inspector Crus he presumed. He was short, with white hair and grey stubble. He had deep wrinkles around his eyes, as if he had been doing every day for quite some time.

“You can come with me – the both of you.” Prompto and Gladiolus followed the Inspector through the doors and down a hallway, Prompto only half listening to what he was saying. “We just need ID…and if one of you could look through his phone, there’s no “mom” or “dad”…he doesn’t look like they do in a funeral home, alright?...”

Finally, a door was opened and the shape of a body could be seen on a gurney, under a pale white sheet. There were chairs, a desk too, but none of this caught Prompto’s attention.

 _Just like the movies_ , Prompto thought. Yes, this was a movie. A dream. A something other than reality. God he needed a cigarette. Maybe some weed, too, but he hadn’t hit a bowl in a couple of months. Liquor was easier to get, but he didn’t like waking up hungover. Prompto was suddenly aware he was too sober.

Inspector Crus didn’t ask if Prompto was ready. How could he be? Stepping to the front of the gurney, he pulled the sheet down to the chest of the corpse, just below the nipples.

Gladio’s eyes slammed shut; it was his father all over again. His stomach heaved, but he willed himself to be strong for his friend. He opened his eyes and was shocked to see Prompto looking calm as ever, even having stepped closer to Noctis’s dead body. His blue eyes scoured the corpse, looking for some form of imperfection, something that showed this was all a misunderstanding.

His skin was a shallow color, his lips Prompto had kissed swollen so many times blended in with his flesh. His eyes were darker and shrunk in their sockets; he had stubble growing along his jawline where he hated. Without thinking and before either man could stop him, Prompto’s fingers were brushing against his dead boyfriend’s cheek.

Prompto turned just in time as his stomach lurched. Crus swiftly adjusted the sheet as Gladio gripped his arm and led him to a chair. Surely, he wasn’t the first person to almost puke in this room. Prompto was rather shocked he hadn’t vomited at all. It took a few moments for the blond to realize Gladio was still clinging to his arm, the man’s eyes rimmed with tears. Where were Prompto’s? He wasn’t sure.

“Mr. Argentum, are you comfortable identifying this man as Noctis Caelum, your room mate?”

“Yes.” Prompto wasn’t sure where his voice came from.

“Do you know what his parents or a relative may be listed under in his phone?”

“Reggie,” Prompto said automatically. “His dad is Reggie. Or Regis. I don’t know.”

Gladio rose and stood next to his friend, his hand on his shoulder. A burst of anger shot through Prompto; why was Gladio so warm when Noctis was cold? Prompto withheld his anger, knowing it was unfair. The Inspector nodded his head and jotted something down on a notepad on his desk.

“Can I get you some water?”

It took Prompto a moment to realize the Inspector was speaking to him. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice. A moment later his hand was wrapping around a paper cup and he was bringing it to his lips. It didn’t feel real, none of it. Was it his hand? His body? How could any of this be happening?

“What happened?” Gladio asked softly. “Do you know … any details?”

Inspector Crus licked his lips nervously. This was what he hated most about his job. He had all the answers and none at all.

“From my understanding, it was a suicide.”

Blunt. Honest. To the point. No point tip toeing around it. Prompto felt as though the walls in the already small room were just getting smaller.

“If you like, we can speak more in another room. It would be more comfortable, I think.”

Inspector Crus rose as he spoke, Gladio lifting Prompto by the arm and they followed the man through the doors and into the hall. Prompto felt dizzy and his water sloshed in the cup in his hands. Gladio held his arm firmly and Prompto let him. It felt nice, not having to think for a second.

They were led to a larger room, perhaps for meetings of some sorts. There was a large table surrounded by chairs, a white board against one wall, a projector pointed against a blank wall sat in the middle of the table. Prompto wondered if Inspector Crus had made a slideshow presentation of Noctis’s suicide and all the reasons it was Promptos fault. Prompto deserved it, sure, but he hoped there wasn’t photos. Noct’s lifeless face was enough to keep him up for the rest of his life.

Gladio pulled out a chair and slumped Prompto in it. He sat next to the blond, and to both their surprise the Inspector sat on the other side of Prompto. His hand came to rest on Prompto’s shoulder. More warm hands while his lover lay cold.

“How?”

It came out a squeak, but Prompto was proud to have gotten anything out at all. How did he do this? How was he found? How did he decide this? _How_ and _why_ were the only things going through Prompto’s mind, but he knew the latter wasn’t going to be answered. Inspector Crus took a moment before he spoke.

“He had…lacerated both his ulnar arteries with some sort of hobby razor – it was found on scene. However, we aren’t certain if this is the cause of death. The police on sight haven’t found any notes, which is unusual but not unheard of. There were also several empty alcohol bottles around the room and a… powder residue found on the bathroom counter. We will need to conduct an actual autopsy to see for sure, but we wanted to ID him first. His wallet wasn’t found on scene and no one has seen any vehicles. The lobby…they admitted they didn’t thoroughly check the ID he showed them; so long the name on the ID and card match they don’t pay attention to anything else.”

Prompto felt bile rise in his throat. Hobby razor. Like the X-Acto knives Prompto used for scrap booking. He could picture it clearly, the bloody handle; was it blue handled one or the silver one? How did he decide? Prompto hadn’t scrap booked in months, of course he wouldn’t notice it was gone. Even if he did he was so fucking stupid he’s assume he had misplaced it.

“Where did this happen?”

It was Gladio’s voice that brought Prompto back. His voice seemed deeper, more sorrowful. He had a lot to carry, Prompto imagined. Noct wasn’t just his. Prompto wondered if Noct knew that. If he wanted to punish him, why not just leave? Why hurt everyone else?

“A hotel in Galdin Quay.”

Blunt. Honest. To the point. Of course. It made sense. Noct loved that place. The food, the sand, fishing. Hell, he loved the stray animals. Still, it meant he drove for thirty minutes before arriving. Half an hour of thinking, contemplating. And he still decided to do it this way.

“When – did this happen today?” Gladio sounded tired.

“He was brought in earlier today, yes,” Crus confirmed. “The records he filled out stated his name and he was from Insomnia, but it took us a little while to unlock his phone. They sent him here, based off his files and that what he listed matched the billing address for the debit card he used.”

There was a pause.

“Your friend…had been dead several hours. He was supposed to check out that morning and never did. They had gone to check his room and found him in the bathtub.”

The bathtub. Overnight. Prompto wondered how swollen his legs were, his fingers and toes wrinkled and decayed. He fought a wave of nausea and shut his eyes. He tried picturing happier times, when they shared a bath with candles and cheap wine, making love in the tub just to empty the water and fill it with cleaner, warmer water when they were finished. But those thoughts hurt just as bad.

  
**

Gladio refused to let Prompto stay alone. Did he seem that unstable? Probably.

He stopped at a gas station and bought Prom a pack of menthols. Prompto let him use his card; he had the money but not the willpower to stand and walk, or be seen with swollen eyes and the front of his shirt wet with snot. Gladio didn’t fare any better, but he was over six foot tall and solid muscle; no one was going to call him a faggot for crying, at least not to his face.

Prompto wanted to smack himself. His boyfriend was dead and he was worried about someone not liking that he was gay. It was living with his mom all over again. He hardly cared what people thought anyway, so why did it hurt so bad now?

Because of the last fight he and Noct had, if you could call it that. Silence could be considered a fight, Prompto thought, especially if the silence and his look of shame held all your answers.

Gladio stopped by Promptos place so he could pick up some things. “The necessities”, Gladio had said. How vague. Anything that may lose Nocts scent tomorrow was a necessity. The necklace left on the bathroom sink was a necessity. It hurt to think of all Nocts clothes hanging in the closet. Cold, empty, a small room full of ghosts. Maybe crashing with Iggy and Gladio wasn’t a terrible idea.

He grabbed handfuls of things – six pairs of underwear, one change of pants, a pajama top, one pair of socks – and stuffed them in an old duffle bag. He remembered a phone charger and barely remembered a tooth brush. He shut the door without turning around, but walked to the desk that sat in their living room.

His living room, anyway.

The very middle drawer, in between the left and right side, was where Prompto kept his important importants – everything was important, but these were more so. Favorite pens and stationary, gift cards, business cards, and tools for scrap booking.

Prompto slid the drawer open easily. Two boxes lay haphazard near the front – a silver one and a black one. All Prom had to do was open a fucking drawer; he always kept his knives in the back. Biting his anger, he opened the silver one.

All that was inside was an indent in the cushion. Hollowed out and empty. Noctis had saved the blue handled one for Prom.

The tears finally came as he stared at the empty box. Of course Noct had.

The blue handled one was Prompto’s favorite. Noctis knew that.

It took only several seconds for Gladio to slam open the front door, wondering what all the racket was. It took several more for Gladio to wrap both arms around the blond and wrestle him to the ground, but once there Prompto quit fighting. They breathed heavily for a few minutes before Gladio released him slowly.

“Better?” Gladio asked sincerely. “You feel any better?”

Prompto inspected his damage. The center drawer was a few feet away, its contents spewed over the floor. The side was completely caved in, having been slammed against the desk over and over. The tears had finally come and his throat felt raw. Had he been screaming?

“No,” Prompto whimpered.

Gladio figured as much, but was happy he didn’t seem in shock any more. He rubbed the smaller man’s back and coaxed him up, grabbing the duffle bag for him. Hand on the small of his back, Gladio led Prompto to his still running Camaro. He let the blond smoke another cigarette in his car, although he hated the damn things. He had practically thrown Noct around when Gladio found out he was smoking.

“They’re going to kill you!” Gladio had spat.

He should have asked why he wanted to take up the habit. Should have asked if he was alright. Should have sat him down, talked about talking. Since Noct was fourteen or so it had been swells of moodiness and depression, interrupted by episodes of glee and damn near mania. It had cooled off since Prompto came around, but had picked up again a few months ago. Not that Gladio or Ignis noticed.

Hindsight was twenty twenty, after all.

From the corner of his eye he watched the blond stare at nothing, his hands shaking and voice cracking from time to time. He didn’t know his friend’s boyfriend well, but Gladio swore to do better by him.

He just had to figure out how.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello,  
> There will be some recreational drug use in this chapter as well as mentions of nsfw and other such elements. Also, please keep in mind I have updated some of my tags. After this chapter I will try to update weekly or bi weekly. Thank you for all the comments and kudos, they mean the world to me!

Prompto curled on the couch, breathing on his hands as the smoke from his cigarette burned his eyes. He flicked the ashes idly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had the heat on. It felt wrong, being so warm while Noct was in the ground. Prompto felt exhausted. His whole body ached, but he hadn’t been to work since the day he found out Noct died. He knew he had to go back sometime next week. At least his boss couldn’t say anything to him – Noct was the son of the CEO of the company he worked at. Hell, it was Noct that got him the job last year. For his credit, though, Prompto had worked hard and not had missed any days and only been late a few times, so it wasn’t like Noct was the only reason he was working.

But it was hard for Prompto to give himself credit for anything anymore.

He had stayed with Gladio and Ignis until three days ago. Gladio had communicated between Regis and Prompto concerning the funeral and the like. Noct’s car had been found near the bay, not too far from the hotel. His keys and wallet were in the glove box. These items were taken to Regis, along with the picture in his wallet Prompto had long forgotten about.

After the funeral Regis had approached the blond, with a look on his face Prompto couldn’t read. Prompto had only seen Regis in a few pictures, but there was no mistaking he was Noctis’s father. It almost hurt to look at him. He walked up to Prompto as he was getting in the backseat of Gladio’s car along with Iris.

He stopped several feet from Prompto, still with an unreadable look. He fumbled with his pockets as Ignis tried speaking to him. Regis ignored or didn’t hear Ignis as he pulled out his wallet and removed a photo and turned it to Prompto.

Prompto’s face fell as he saw the photo of himself and Noctis, taken early some morning forever ago. Both were shirtless and had bed head, but Prompto had his other hand pressed against Noct’s face, pulling him close for the kiss he was putting on his cheek. Noct’s eyes were closed and his mouth was open in a laugh. If Prompto’s memory was correct, it was also taken right after they had made love.

“I…don’t want this,” Regis had whispered.

Prompto felt as though he had been slapped in the face. It wasn’t like he didn’t know Regis was ignorant about their relationship – Noct had made it clear he was afraid to tell his dad since he was in such a position of public appeal; the clothes made at the factory went beyond the country and were fighting against well-known competitors. The company had started in his great grandfather’s garage and Noct didn’t want to be the reason the company started a decline. Prompto thought it was a little paranoid, but he knew what it was like to be the “queer boy”; he hadn’t spoken to his own parents since he was nineteen. He couldn’t imagine being the “queer boy” when millions of dollars and people were involved.

Regis must have read something in the young man’s face, because he quickly tried to explain what he meant.

“You can have this,” he said a little more gently, lowering it for Prompto to take. Prompto did stiffly. He wasn’t sure what to say when your dead boyfriend’s dad hands you a picture of his dead son post coitus. He wondered if there were etiquette rules for it, like the books Noct told him he had to read when he was younger. There was a silence before Regis handed Prompto a business card as well and left after thanking the other two men and Iris for attending.

Death brought a lot of silence, Prompto was learning. Death had been happening since the dawn of time and still no one knew what to say. Prompto put his cigarette out on the coffee table in front of him and flicked the butt somewhere in the floor. The contents of the drawer still lay scattered across the floor, joined by empty liquor bottles and cigarette ashes. Prompto wasn’t really a dirty person, but he didn’t have the energy to do anything either. It was only the living room that was dirty – had been sleeping here and eating here, when he ate. Dishes stacked on the coffee table, filled with food that only had a few bites taken out. He had gotten up to eat something last night and found all the plates were dirty. Prompto simply went back to sleep. He wondered how bad his house smelled and if he smelled any better. He hadn’t showered in about five days, when Gladio had hauled him over his shoulder and taken him to the bathroom himself.

Prompto thought he could use a little tough love, especially now.

All his energy for three days had gone to emptying out all of Noct’s stuff. He hadn’t thrown them out, just moved them to the “Prompto’s room”. The spare room was for when anyone other than Gladio or Ignis showed up; Prompto and Noct had separate rooms, see? No gays here, no sir.

Not that anyone else ever came to visit. Regis was too busy and Prom’s parents had long since changed numbers. Prom and Noctis had friends at work, sure, but none that close. None that knew their relationship.

So Prompto had begun moving Nocts things. There wasn’t an organized fashion, just grabbing shit and throwing it in the room. Nothing in boxes or bags, nothing labeled. Noct’s tackle box was on top of his dress shoes, his coat underneath some boxers, a hair brush and deodorant in the floor with a flask and a book on camping. It was a thrift shop of the dead, and no one was buying.

Prompto checked his phone, which was at seventeen percent. Ignis should be on his way by now. Prompto was very well hungover and knew the taller man was going to have a heart attack when he stepped foot inside the trailer, but Prompto didn’t care. Ignis and Gladio said anything he needed, any time, and dammit he needed something for a head ache, now. He closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe. He hadn’t been piss drunk the night before. Prompto remembered, quite clearly, digging through his duffel bag and trying to find the card Regis had given him. Yes, Prompto wanted to give him a piece of his mind.

_Your son took it up the ass, whether you like it or not,_ Prompto wanted to tell him. _Yeah, Noct begged for my cock all the time. He would worship me, spoil me, tell me he would sell the world just to hear me say his name when I come. He loved riding me, he told me he felt so loved when I would hold his hands to help him balance on my dick. Did you know that, Mr. Caelum?_

Hungover, Prompto was grateful he did not find the business card until this morning, in the back pocket of the jeans he had worn for two days in a row. He didn’t know why he was so angry, especially at Regis. His feelings toward their relationship aside, he had lost his only son.

Noctis wasn’t just his.

Prompto heard a car shut off in the driveway. It could be Ignis, or an axe murderer. Prompto was fine with either. It was dead silent in the trailer; Prompto wasn’t sure what he liked and he didn’t. The silence hurt but every noise was too loud.

Ignis entered without knocking, just as Prompto had instructed. The blond shut his eyes as the light pierced them. He had kept the lights off for a day or two. He kept his eyes closed as Ignis walked closer, not wanting to see Ignis surveying the mess that had become Promptos life. Ignis was not in disgust, however. He would have been surprised to see the place clean and well kept. He and Gladio’s own place was suffering some, but he doubted Prompto had noticed. Not that he expected him to.

“I brought some Ibuprofen,” Ignis whispered. “As well as some food. You need to eat.”

“Not hungry,” Prompto mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Thought you might say that,” Ignis said, lifting Prompto’s feet and sitting at the far end of the couch. He set what sounded like a million bags on the floor by his feet and began digging through his pockets. Prompto kept his eyes closed, curious but tired. He was grateful Ignis was here but wasn’t sure how to express it. He felt Ignis shift and decided to at least open his eyes and acknowledge his friend.

Through the dim light filtering through the blinds, Prompto could see Ignis skillfully rolling a joint. A pack of rolling paper was on one thigh and a plastic bag against the other. He licked the paper and sealed it before handing it to the blond.

“I trust you have a lighter?”

Prompto sat up slowly, a little in shock. He wouldn’t consider himself a stoner; he had dabbled some here and there, especially in high school. He had a few connections for the rare occasion when he and Noctis wanted to get high, but Noctis preferred edibles. The last time he smoked anything offered to him for free it had been laced with opium. He had lost bits of memory and he had unable to move for what felt like hours. He had been lucky he wasn’t raped or anything other than one of his friends drawing a dick on his forehead.

That had been his junior year of high school though, and the people weren’t really his friends. Could he consider Ignis his friend? He supposed so, although the two had never spoken without Noct present before he died. It was somewhat similar with Gladio; the two had borrowed books a few times and Prompto babysat Iris once. At least he knew a little about Gladio.

Prompto thanked the taller man as he stood, collecting the bag at his feet and making his way to the kitchen. Prompto began to smoke as soon as he found his lighter, which had been wedged between the couch cushions.

He watched Ignis roll up his sleeves and open the dishwasher. He began going through the cabinets and drawers, assessing where everything would go. Prompto felt as though he should help him, but didn’t want to if he had to be honest. He would rather sit on the couch and get high while someone else cleaned up his life for him. He felt like a failure.

“Want a hit?” Prompto offered half way through. The muscles in his back seemed to have unwound a little, but his body stayed firmly rooted on the sofa.

“You go ahead,” Ignis replied. “I’ve had some this morning.” 

_Oh_ , Prompto thought. The guy didn’t seem like he smoked anything – he rather seemed like a stick in the mud. Prompto knew his parents were from overseas and were stock brokers or something similar. He had gone to private schools and what not. He was accepted to a private college and graduated early. He worked under Regis, at the same factory Prompto worked at. Prompto wasn’t exactly sure what it was Ignis did, but he was seen on the floor occasionally, speaking to supervisors of each department and taking notes on a clipboard. He seemed serious, but not unfriendly. Very professional.

And, as it seemed, always prepared. Ignis bent to collect some of the dishes on the coffee table, but not before reaching into his pocket and passing Prompto a bobby pin.

“I couldn’t find my clip, I’m afraid,” he explained. “But Iris has several million of these.”

After attaching the pin to the joint Prompto took another hit, watching Ignis scoop up his dirty dishes. He wondered what Ignis would sound like if he said, “Good sport,” like Gatsby; Prompto always imagined he had an English accent. Prompto didn’t laugh, but for the first time since Noct died he wanted to.

Once the coffee table was cleared he could find the ashtray, where he deposited what was left of the roach. He wiped off the sticky residue from the bobby pin; Prompto wasn’t sure if Ignis was going to return it or not. Girls always seemed to have plenty bobby pins.

Prompto came to a slow rise. He began picking up the cigarette butts he had flicked in the floor and set them in the ash tray, as well as picking up the empty bottles and cans. He did what he could to the contents of the drawer, but the drawer itself was down and out. He took the trash to the garbage can, only to realize it was overflowing. Perhaps that’s where some of the smell was coming from.

Prompto took out the garbage, taking it to the cans outside. Seeing the bags filling the cans and lying beside them, Prompto realized he had missed the city’s garbage pickup at least once. He felt defeated and suddenly more tired than ever.

Ignis had put away the few clean dishes and loaded the dishwasher before unloading his groceries. He had all the ingredients to make his brown sugar meatloaf, as well as instant mashed potatoes and some macaroni. Ignis didn’t mind cooking – he rather enjoyed it. He was rather nervous, however. He wasn’t sure how Prompto felt about him barging in and cleaning and cooking. He had good intentions, but sometimes grief meddled with emotions. He and Regis had gone into his file at work and given him three weeks worth of bereavement leave, despite questions and doubt from Prompto’s supervisor. But who was he going to argue with – Ignis, the head of Human Resources, or Regis, the CEO?

Ignis wondered if Prompto had checked his bank account to see if he had been paid or not. He made it a point to bring it up later.

Prompto reentered the kitchen, going past Ignis into the laundry room. After a moment he returned with a rag and cleaner and began cleaning the table and wiping off the counter. Ignis did not encourage or deny the help; he let Prompto do what he felt he could do.

“Thanks for coming,” Prompto mumbled without meeting Ignis’s eye. “You didn’t have to bring any food.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis said rather cheerfully. “I can’t leave you without a home cooked meal, you know. It’s bad manners.”

As Ignis began preparing the food, Prompto vacuumed the small living room and let the blinds open some. He took some of the medicine offered and drank a glass of water. He hoped Ignis didn’t notice all the liquor bottles and soda cans in the floor earlier. He had, but said nothing. Ignis himself had wondered how Gladio would be handling all this if there wasn’t a child in their home.

Once the meatloaf was prepared and in the oven, Ignis sat beside Prompto on the sofa, staring at the T.V that wasn’t on. Prompto knew he should say something, but didn’t know what.

“Finding it hard to sleep?” Ignis inquired, taking a glance at the pillow and blanket on the couch. He saw no point in beating around the bush; Prompto was struggling and he needed some sort of relief. Ignis just wasn’t sure what could help. The blond shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It’s…I keep dreaming about him. We’re at a masquerade or whatever – everyone is wearing masks but me. And I’m embarrassed, so I’m trying to find Noct to leave, but I can’t. I can’t find him.”

Ignis nodded.

“Gladio and I are having similar dreams. I myself dream of waiting for him at the diner to get off work, but he never comes out. I try calling him, but his phone just rings and rings.”

Neither spoke for a while after, because there wasn’t much to say. Ignis patiently waited for Prompto to begin where ever he felt comfortable.

“I got his things,” Prompto whispered. “Piled up in the room. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.” Ignis noted the way his voice cracked. He shifted closer, taking a hand a placing it between the man’s shoulder blades. Prompto pulled out another cigarette before continuing. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this, seeing his stuff. I thought I could…I don’t know. But I wasn’t expecting it to feel so raw finding one of his socks mixed up in my laundry or seeing his toothbrush next to mine. It’s so fucking dumb but it hurts.”

“It’s not dumb,” Ignis whispered. “It’s alright, Prompto. It’s alright.”

Prompto was still crying when the meatloaf was finished, but rose to help make the other sides. They ate together, but not before Prompto turned on the T.V for a little sound.

**

Prompto showered later that night, the hot water turned as high as it would go. His skin burned but he didn’t mind. It gave him something else to focus on other than Noct and all the times they spent in this shower. It wasn’t even the sexual things that got to Prompto – they had laughed here. They had helped each other shave, washed each other’s backs.

They had been happy, but there were the bad times too. Days Noct stayed in bed. Called in to work, or had Prom call in for him. Days where he did go to work, then took three hours to come home. He had days he picked at his food and stiffened at Prompto’s touch like a cat raising its fur in defense. Nights he couldn’t sleep and days when he cried for no reason. Then Prompto would come home to Noct backing him against the front door, sinking to his knees and taking the blond right there.

They’d fuck for hours – no love making here. It was damn near primal; the marathon sessions going so long they were both dry and sore. They didn’t even make the same noises. Gone were the soft moans and whispers and in their place were growls and grunts, bleeding bites and bruises were guaranteed to line their bodies. As soon as they were done they’d go again, taking turns holding the other down and thrusting as hard as they could. These sessions rarely took place in the bedroom – Noct couldn’t wait that long. They’d fuck on the couch, in the living room floor, against the kitchen counter until six or seven at night.

Prom knew when Noct was finished, because he’d start crying. They’d hold each other where ever they were and sit in silence, Prom petting his lover’s hair and kissing his forehead.

“I love you,” Prompto would repeat over and over. “You’re so special to me. Everything is going to be okay.”

_Fuck._

Prompto’s length had begun to harden. It was the first time he could picture Noct’s face and not want to cry, but this wasn’t the reaction he wanted either.

He shut off the water and dried off, breathing heavily. He wandered into his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He picked up his phone and began texting the number on the business card as Ignis had instructed before he left. Regis wanted to speak to him, Ignis had told him. Prompto was intrigued and rather touched Regis had allowed him to have bereavement leave, especially three weeks worth. The state didn’t require any bereavement leave at all, and the company only allowed one week of paid leave, “within exceptions”, whatever that meant.

_Hello, it’s Prompto. This is my number if you want to get in touch._

Prompto set his phone back on charge and sat on the bed. He still throbbed under the towel but was trying to ignore it desperately. He felt like a pervert. Was this healthy? He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to ask Ignis.

Prompto leaned back; he hadn’t laid in the bed since the phone call from Inspector Crus. The muscles in his back seemed to thank him as he relaxed into the mattress. After a few minutes Prompto rose and shifted, getting himself under the covers. Maybe if he relaxed a little his –

His thigh brushed against something that wasn’t the comforter. Prompto’s heart dropped, but he pulled it out from under the blanket any way. One of Noct’s work shirts had been sloppily thrown on the bed and hidden by the blankets. Another little ghost. Prompto rubbed the cloth between his fingers. The shirt smelled of his cologne and Prompto could imagine Noctis was there with him, even if it was just for a few minutes; his cock was aching and Prompto realized he couldn’t put it off any longer.

He slept in bed that night, with Noct’s shirt pressed against his cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens some! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and thank you all for the comments and kudos! <3

Cold air kissed Prompto’s face as he exited his car. He felt as though his heart was going to jump through his throat and out of his mouth. But, true to Regis’s word, the older man sat on a bench on the edge of the cemetery, his back to Prompto. He was slumped forward and jiggling his foot, the same tic Noctis did when he was nervous.

Prompto was apprehensive as well. He and Regis had text some, but never talked about meeting until a few days ago. It had been Prompto’s first week back at work and a part of him enjoyed being back on some sort of routine. Coming home was still hard as ever. It felt as though Noctis was haunting the spare room or that he was coming home any minute, and Prompto wasn’t sure which feeling he preferred.

“Hey,” Prompto called out, lifting his hand as Regis turned to face him. Regis smiled some and raised his arm as well, but made no move off the bench. Prompto sat on the other edge and crossed his legs, trying to burrow in his jacket some.

“How are you doing?” Regis asked, his voice sad but kind. Prompto chewed his lower lip a moment.

“Ah…it’s…getting easier, but it’s not either, if that makes any sense.”

It was one of the main reasons he hadn’t spoken to a therapist or anyone who knew what happened at work – Prompto couldn’t put his feelings into words about it. He had always had high emotional intelligence and expressed himself through photography, painting, and the like. But these days he was happy to roll out of bed and he was such a mess of emotions he didn’t know where to start.

“You’re getting back to a routine, but it still feels like there’s a bullet wound in your chest?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Prompto sighed in relief. It was nice to have someone figure out his emotions for him. “What about you?”

Regis nodded slowly.

“It’s the same, son. I see him everywhere, though, even when I sleep. Some mornings I’m so disoriented I’m expecting him to knock on my bedroom door asking for a ride to school like he’s in Elementary school again. But…other mornings it’s like a shadow is… _looming_ over me, making sure I’m reminded from the get go my son is dead.”

Prompto nodded at his words, but made no effort to respond. It was the death and silence thing. You could only say sorry so many times. They sat in silence a while, Prompto stealing looks from the older man several times. Noctis looked like Regis, but Prompto still wondered what his mother looked like and how much he Noct took after her. Regis’s wrinkles were defined and Prom could see the grey showing in his hair. He was dressed in a suit, but upon closer inspection the blond could see his tie was tied sloppily and there was a stain on his knee.

Regis sighed. “I’m going to walk. Would you like to come, Prompto?”

Prompto stood as an answer, not trusting his voice. There was no mention of visiting Noct’s grave when they agreed to meet, but why else would they come here? Regis stood slowly and set a slow pace towards his sons grave. Prompto walked by his side silently. This was his first visit since the funeral. If Prompto had to be honest, he was nervous about coming alone for some reason. As they followed the path leading to the family plot, Regis cleared his throat and began to speak.

“This is my first time seeing him since we laid him to rest. I tried last week, but couldn’t get out of my car. Silly, huh?”

“No,” Prompto said softly. “I haven’t come at all. I feel like shit for it, too.”

Regis placed his hand on Prompto’s shoulder. “It’s alright, son.”

A swell of emotion spread through Prompto’s chest when Regis called him “son.” He wondered if it upset Regis, calling someone else his son, or if he called everyone Prompto’s age that. Either way, Prompto had never had a father figure call him that. For a moment he was insecure, hoping he didn’t smell like alcohol. Prompto came closer to Regis, the warmth of his touch overriding the cool breeze that made both men’s noses red.

“Almost February,” Regis commented, patting Prompto’s shoulder and then rubbing it. “Strange we haven’t had snow yet, but I shouldn’t jinx it, huh?”

Prompto smiled, then said something both men knew.

“Noct loved snow.”

“That he did,” Regis said with a squeeze.

They had reached the family plot. Prompto could easily see his boyfriends grave; the ground around it had not yet settled fully, even after almost a month. His headstone was shiny and new, a black marble with silver lettering. Noctis was buried next to his mother, who’s grave was grassed over but headstone was also black marble. Prompto wondered if Regis would have a black headstone as well.

The two stood for a moment before walking forward. Regis gave Prompto’s shoulder a final squeeze before his arm dropped. A knot in Prompto’s chest began to form the closer they got to Noct’s grave. He stopped a few feet away, but Regis walked to the side of the headstone before he went to his knees and placed both hands on the stone. After a moment, Regis rested his forehead on the backs of his hands. Prompto could see his eyes had closed and his lips moved slightly.

The blond turned a little. Prompto wasn’t sure if Regis was praying or speaking to Noctis, but he felt embarrassed witnessing something so personal. Prompto himself wasn’t too religious and hadn’t prayed since he was a child, but he didn’t feel like this was the setting to mention that. After another moment Regis lifted his head and placed a kiss on the tombstone.

Prompto expected the older man to rise, but to his surprise Regis sat down with his back to Prompto, his head lowered. Prompto felt a wave of emotion. He was here with Regis, wasn’t he? So why was he off to the side like an uninvited guest?

While he had the courage, Prompto quickly made his way to the other side of the grave and sat facing the headstone. The ground was cold, and his knee was touching the dirt where his lover lay six feet under. He tried very hard not to think about it, but how could he not? Much to Prompto’s surprise, he felt a small warmth spread through him. Dead or not, this was as close as he had been to the man he loved in a long time. He wondered if Regis felt the same.

Prompto glanced at the headstone that hadn’t been erected until after Noct’s funeral. He read the few lines slowly, then again. He read the last line a third time.

_Loved son, grandson, boyfriend, and friend. May he find peace._

_Boyfriend_ , Prompto thought. _Loved boyfriend._ He felt a sharp pain in his chest as his thoughts erupted to the last argument the two had that was also the last conversation they had.

_“I’m so fucking sorry,” Noctis had said, his voice cracking slightly. “Just – please. I love you, I mean it, I – I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can say, but I do love you. You believe me, don’t you? Tell me, please?”_

Prompto had rose, his eyes burning with tears. He didn’t want Noct to see him cry. He rose from the table and walked out of the house. He hadn’t slammed the door, didn’t swear – but didn’t tell Noctis he loved him, or say he knew Noctis loved him. At the time, Prompto wasn’t sure if he really did.

Even today, there was a doubt in his mind. But Prompto had loved Noctis fully – so fully he was ready to accept the apology and work things out when he came home an hour later and found the place empty.

Prompto wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence. It was comforting in a way but he wasn’t sure how to explain this. He hadn’t let himself think of the fight without feeling immense guilt until now. He loved Noctis. Fully, wholly, with no doubt or after thought. But had Noctis known that? It certainly didn’t seem so.

“What do you think?”

The question punctuated the cold air and startled the blond. Had he spoken aloud?

“Uh – a- about what?”

Prompto glanced over to Regis, who was staring at the tombstone and saw the man shrug his shoulders and lift his eyebrows.

“Well, about anything. Whatever you want to tell me.”

It took Prompto a moment to process this. It wasn’t as if older people had been clamoring to Prompto his whole life, wanting to know how he thought or felt about things. Other than Noctis and Ignis and Gladio as of late, this was a first. What was he supposed to say? Should he talk about art, or music, or even politics? All those things seemed so minute to talk about by the grave of someone they both loved.

“I really like purple,” Prompto replied. “I read in a book that it’s a color that just wants love, like everyone else. I guess it’s…always stuck with me. It made me sad to think purple is a lonely color.”

Regis nodded, but it took him a moment to speak.

“My son’s boyfriend likes purple. I’m glad you told me.”

Prompto wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. This wasn’t the typical way you got to know someone, but what was? Prompto had told Noctis this after an intense make out sessions in the back of Regis’s car when they first started dating; Noctis sucking the flesh right under Prom’s collarbone before asking, _“If you were a color, what color would you be?”_

“What about you? What colors do you like?”

“Orange,” Regis said with a sad smile. “When I was a boy I had an orange cat named Dizzy. He was my best friend until I was in seventh - or maybe eighth - grade and he got a tumor and we had to let him go. I always associate orange with warmth and love.” Regis let out a soft laugh. “I didn’t have a friend like that until I met my wife.”

It took a second for Prompto to realize he was smiling. He had many best friends that had been pets too. But his best friends were pets because he was lonely and didn’t have much – Regis was from a different social class that Prom had grown up in. Certainly he hadn’t been insecure about clothes or anything like that. So why didn’t he have loads of friends and people wanting to be his friend?

“Noct never had a lot of friends either,” Regis whispered. “I always felt as though loneliness was our family curse. We could be in a room full of people and Noctis would cling to me as I had clung to my father, staring at his shoes and praying he was invisible. When he mentioned you, I thought it was…something he wasn’t being completely honest about. I just didn’t want to press him, especially after what we went through with Angelus. He was just starting to…act like a regular young man, as bad as I hate to say it. I just didn’t want any back tracking. I was stuck between giving him space and wanting to pry.”

Confusion struck Prompto harshly.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t heard about what you’re talking about.”

Regis’s eyes closed. He pressed his lips together for some time. Prompto wondered if he had made him angry. Regis was debating on whether or not to tell the boy – he deserved to know; he had been part of Noct’s life. But Noctis had never told him. That didn’t mean he never would have, though. It had taken Noctis five years to tell his own father. Regis was about to open another wound, one that still hurt, but didn’t Prompto deserve to know his boyfriend had personal problems that were beyond his control?

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware Noctis had…kept that from you.”

Prompto shivered, and not just out of the cold. He felt like an outsider, like he was intruding and being nosy.

“It’s hard for me to discuss, so I’m sure it was even harder on him,” Regis explained quickly. “It took him a very long time to tell me. I … he had been acting moody for years, doing things that weren’t appropriate and harming himself. He was nineteen when I finally just _asked_. That – that was all it took. I knew I had never done anything to harm him, but it took me a long time to realize perhaps it was someone else. He broke down that day.” Regis paused, still remembering Noctis in the passenger seat next to him. He was bawling, his entire body shaking, wiping his eyes on the long sleeves he was wearing despite it being summer. “I pulled over to some restaurant and we talked for about an hour. He had been abused when he was fourteen.”

It felt as though the whole world was turning in on Prompto. He was thankful for the silence, because he wasn’t sure if he could process any more words or feelings. He wasn’t particularly angry at Noctis – Prompto himself had kept some of the worst neglect and abuse from his childhood from his boyfriend, simply because it was too hard to talk about. Noctis had a right to his secrets. But if his secrets were so heavy that they played a part in his suicide, why hadn’t he reached out? Could that be why Noctis did what he did to hurt Prompto?

The blond didn’t want to think about it. What Noctis did had hurt, and in more ways than one. But it wasn’t something they couldn’t work through. And even if they couldn’t, a break up wouldn’t be the end of the world or cause for a suicide.

It was a lot to process, but Prompto spoke the only words he could think to say.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Prompto wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Noctis or Regis, but it felt right to say. Abuse wasn’t like dying. It wasn’t something that happened to everyone, and it didn’t deserve to happen to anyone. It came stigma and shame. Prompto wasn’t sure if anyone was ever the same after.

“I put him in therapy,” Regis confessed. “He told me a lot, but I’m not sure if it was everything. I tried…” Regis’s voice cracked, and Prompto looked over to see Regis’s hand covering his eyes. “I tried finding the woman who hurt him. It was during a party – around Christmas I think – and she had invited him upstairs to watch a movie. She was twenty at the time, and Noctis was just a boy.”

Regis was crying at this point, and Prompto’s own eyes were stinging. He struggled to rise and stepped over the grave. He was nervous to hug the older man, but Prompto brought his hand in between Regis’s shoulder blades and rubbed softly.

“I think you did the right thing,” Prompto said honestly, but Regis shook his head and sighed.

“Fucking statute of limitations,” Regis muttered. “I wanted legal action. I wanted to make things right. But she was out of state and her father wasn’t hearing any of it. He offered to pay us both. He never apologized for his daughter’s actions, but he seemed nervous and flighty. I tried to take legal actions, but my lawyer said there was a high chance it would go nowhere. Noctis…Noctis didn’t want to take legal action either. He just wanted it to be over, I think.”

“He didn’t want to relive it,” Prompto said softly.

“Yeah.”

Prompto removed his hand and placed it on Regis’s shoulder. The man squeezed his hand before rising as well. The blond watched as Regis placed a kiss against Noct’s headstone before turning and placing a kiss on his wife’s as well. The walked to their cars in silence, the sun almost completely set in the horizon. Prompto was itching for a cigarette. He could see his breath in the air and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. He took note of Regis’s silence, but wasn’t sure what to say.

Still, once they reached their cars, Prompto placed his arm around the older man’s shoulder. Regis leaned in to the hug and wrapped his arm around Prom’s waist. After a moment, Prompto turned to complete the hug. He wasn’t sure how long the two stood there, but it was Regis that pulled away.

“Let me know that you get home safely,” he said with a smile.

“Same to you.”

After lighting a cigarette Prompto began his drive home, his thoughts muddled and overlapping. He had a million questions and no answers. Had Noct been hurting all along? Had he not recognized the signs? What even were the signs? Noct never mentioned mental illness or even seeing a therapist. Was he worried Prompto was going to judge him?

When Prompto was home, he went into the spare room. He stopped a moment and took in the scene. Nothing had changed: things were stacked on things and those things were everywhere. Prompto hadn’t been in here since the morning he threw Noctis’s last shirt in. From the looks of it, it had landed in the floor.

Prompto bent down and began his search. It felt wrong, not just going through his boyfriend’s things, but his boyfriend’s personal things. Noctis had kept a notebook or two over the course of their relationship and possibly more before so. Prompto never had read them, just as Noctis had never gone through his camera or interrupted him while he was painting. But Prompto couldn’t shake the thought from his mind – if he had read through the journals and saw things that disturbed him, would it have made a difference if Prompto had intervened?

After several minutes, Prompto became discouraged. He didn’t remember packing any books into the room other than a camping book and a few magazines. All he was doing was scratching at a wound. He left the room to head to his own, where he sat on the edge of his bed. He suddenly remembered to message Regis, which he did promptly.

He and Regis messaged back and forth for a few minutes before Prompto took it upon himself to take two sleeping pills. They were over the counter, and lately he couldn’t sleep without them, so he didn’t think he was doing anything dangerous. Still, he hadn’t mentioned anything to Ignis or Gladio. The two contacted him frequently as well and Gladio seemed to be doing a little better. Prompto had trouble reading Ingis.

Prompto had some time before the pills kicked in and his thoughts wondered to Noctis’s journals yet again. It was possible Noctis had thrown them out – or hid them. The thought brought a pain to Prompto’s chest. He couldn’t bear to find another of Noctis’s ghost just laying around. Still, the blond rose and opened the closet door. He shuffled through some of the things on the shelf above the hangers and looked through some old shoe boxes, but found nothing. He knelt in the floor and looked under the bed. Another ghost, but not what he was looking for. Prompto sighed before scooping Noctis’s slippers out from under the bed.

He went to rise, but stopped.

On his knees, Prompto glanced at the space between the mattress and box spring. It was such an obvious hiding spot; would Noctis even do that? Slowly, Prompto wedged his hand in between and began sliding it around. After a moment of finding nothing, he lifted the whole mattress up.

Near the foot of the bed, three composition books laid face down, along with a small blue and white striped notebook. Prompto scooped them up and laid them on the nightstand before falling onto the bed, sleep over taking him shortly after.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys - posting early due to the snowy weather making me stay home from work! The plot thickens some more as we get context of Noct's and Prompto's last conversation and we get to see little Iris. I can't thank you enough for all the comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy

The children’s cries had only gotten louder the closer Prompto approached the school. He had been twenty minutes early picking up Iris, but the line for student pick up was still wrapped around the school. He didn’t mind picking the girl up from school; Prompto rather enjoyed helping out Gladio and Ignis whenever he could, and Iris wasn’t a bad kid. After all, the two other men could use a few hours to fuck – or, as Gladio had put it, “rest”. It wasn’t really Prompto’s business any way.

Prompto yawned and rubbed his palm over his steering wheel. Tomorrow would be Valentine’s Day. Prompto was ready for the day to be over. All month and some of the last he had been hounded by stuffed animals and chocolates at every corner of the grocery store, and it just reminded him of Noctis. The Valentine’s Day last year had greeted Prompto with pancakes in bed, and when he came home a rose petal trial leading to a hot bubble bath and a very naked boyfriend. He didn’t want to think of Valentine’s Day this year, which would be spent at some sports bar with his dead boyfriend’s dad discussing his dead son’s private thoughts. Prompto guessed Regis didn’t want to be alone this holiday either.

So instead, Prompto had focused on the real holiday of the month: Friday the Thirteenth. Contrary to the day, however, Prompto had been having a somewhat good day. Work had been going smooth as of late and he was due for another pay raise sometime next month. If Prompto thought on it, nothing had been going “bad” in his day to day life – other than his thoughts returning to the journals he finished in two days, and the small book of poetry he didn’t even know Noctis had wrote. Prompto hadn't finished the poetry, but it was eating him up in the back of his mind. Everything in Prompto’s life was normal, except that the other side of his bed was cold.

Finally, Prompto could see the front of the school building. Several teachers stood along the perimeter, but were grossly outnumbered by children with candy, cards, and even balloons. It was easy to spot Iris, however – the only child with a full bouquet of red roses provided by Gladio, a large box of chocolates from Ignis, and a teddy bear only a little smaller than her from the blond. Perhaps they were spoiling the girl, but it didn’t hurt to be spoiled on a holiday that young girls are usually spoiled by their fathers.

“Hey, you,” Prompto smiled as Iris dumped her chocolate and bear in the back seat. “Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Uh, you, and Bubby, and Iggy,” Iris giggled. Once she was strapped in the back seat, bouquet firmly in her arms and seat belt over her Lisa Frank shirt, Prompto began his trip to the girl’s favorite restaurant – Kenny Crow’s.

“You hungry?” Prompto asked from the front seat. “Gladdy wanted me to take you out to dinner tonight. That okay?”

“Yeah.”

Prompto drove in silence for a while. It was strange for Iris to be so quiet, but Prompto assumed she was tired from school. He didn’t want to be a stick in the mud and ask about homework and all that; that was for Gladio and Ignis. He was Prommy, and Prommy did fun stuff.

“Hey Prommy?” came a small voice from the backseat.

“Hey Iris?”

“Can I ask you somethin’? I’m scared to ask Bubby or Iggy.”

_Please don’t be about sex. Please don’t be about sex._

“Uh – yeah, kiddo. Anything.”

_Please don’t be about your period either. When do girls get their period? She’s too young, I think._

“What’s a faggot?”

Prompto felt like a deflated balloon. It was the question every gay person assumed a child would ask them at some point, but he assumed Gladio had already gone over it.

“Well, it – it’s not a very nice word. Where did you hear it?”

The blond stole a glance in the rear view mirror. Iris was idly rubbing her shoes together and looking at her flowers.

“A girl in school. She tol’ me Gladdy and Iggy were faggots.”

 _What a bitch_ , Prompto thought, before reminding himself the girl was probably eight or nine.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice, huh? Did you tell your teacher?”

Iris shook her head. Prompto stepped on the speed a little, getting to the restaurant as soon as he could without being reckless. Once parked, he stepped out of the car and opened the back door. He scooted the bear and chocolate over to make room next to the girl, who was fiercely wiping her eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Prompto whispered, a small swell of panic rising. “It’s alright. Nothing bad is going to happen. That girl’s probably just mad that you got so much cool stuff, yeah?”

Iris sniffled and nodded.

“I – I didn’t know whadda say,” Iris cried. “I was afraid if I tol’ Mrs. Ramey, Gladdy and Iggy’d go away.”

“No, no,” Prompto reassured, unbuckling the girl and pulling her to him. “It’s not…illegal. No one is going to send Gladio and Iggy away because they live together. And no one can make you go away. Even when you’re old – like, nineteen.”

That earned a smile from the girl. She had a death grip on her flowers and some of her tears had dripped on the red petals. She sniffed before speaking again.

“So – that’s a faggot? When boys live together?”

“That isn’t a nice word, okay? But kinda. There’s more to it, but I think Gladdy and Iggy should talk to you about it. I’m not sure how they want to discuss it with you.”

Iris nodded, her bottom lip in between her teeth.

“Do they love each other like a mommy and daddy? My bubby and Iggy?”

Prompto opened his mouth, but it took a moment for him to respond. He realized Iris was a nine year old orphan and wondered if she even remembered any interactions between her parents. Prompto didn’t have much positive experience between parents himself, but he knew right from wrong in terms of how a parent should treat a child - and each other.

“I think so, yeah,” Prompto reassured. “But I really think you should ask them. I don’t mind talking to you about grown up stuff, ‘cause you’re really cool, but some grown up stuff you should leave to Gladdy and Iggy, okay?”

“Okay,” Iris whispered. “But can I ask you about other grown up stuff?”

_Please don’t be about sex._

Prompto smiled and adjusted in the backseat, turning to face her fully and leaning against the door. He bowed as best as he could in the cramped space.

“Prompto Argentum – All Seeing, All Knowing Oracle, at your service.”

A wave of relief passed through him when Iris giggled.

“I…um. I just wanted to ask about Uncle Noctis. Did he die on purpose?”

Prompto felt as though a knife had jabbed his chest. His eyebrows raised without his notice. Iris stared at him with wide eyes, her gaze focused but patient. Prompto closed his eyes and swallowed. Before he could answer, Iris spoke again.

“Gladdy won’t tell me. He just says he died. But Uncle Noctis wasn’t sick like mommy or got in an accident like daddy, and I listened one night to him and Iggy talk about it. Bubby said, “ _Why didn’t he tell anyone? How could he do this?_ ”. And he said he felt bad, and you probably do to, like it’s your fault, but it isn’t. So I can only figure out that he did it on purpose but nobody will say anything, just that he “died unexpectedly” “ – Iris lifted her hands and made air quotes with her fingers – “and it almost feels like people are kinda lying about it and I just don’t know why. I just wanna know.”

Iris breathed heavily for a moment after her vocal spill. Prompto was in shock to a certain degree, but wondered how long Iris had been holding that in. Although he knew it was none of his business, he felt some relief knowing Gladio didn’t blame him.

“Well, Iris, I really appreciate you telling me this,” Prompto said slowly. “I’m glad you trust me enough to talk to me, and you always can. But the truth is, no one really knows all the answers, which is why everyone is kinda lying. And you’re right – it’s confusing and it sucks. But people don’t like talking about suicide because no one has answers, and grown ups are weird about being right and having answers. So…when no one knows, adults kinda…dance around the topic, I guess. That way no one is wrong. Does any of that make sense?”

Iris shook her head. Her flowers had fallen in her lap and she idly played with them.

“So nobody knows why he done it?”

_I can still feel her breath against my face some nights her hand on my wrist making me grab up her skirt and put my fingers inside her “If you tell I’ll tell – look you like it don’t you look how hard you are for me don’t worry I’m going to take care of you” and I feel myself coming and crying because I’m so fucking disgusting nasty nasty nasty_

Prompto slaps the images of the composition books out of his mind. Prompto would kill himself if it meant protecting Iris from ever finding out what happened to her Uncle Noctis.

“Not really. But I know for sure – without a shadow of a doubt – he loved you, a whole lot.”

Iris leaned into Prompto’s chest and the young man hugged her gently. He wanted to tell her it would all be okay, she would feel better with time, but Prompto wasn’t so sure himself.

Iris mumbled something into Prompto’s shirt.

“What’s that?”

Iris lifted slightly, but didn’t pull away from his embrace.

“When I listened to Bubby and Iggy, they said he had… _drugs_ …inside him. Was…Uncle Noctis doing _drugs_?”

The way Iris said it made Prompto’s gut turn. Of course, she didn’t mean to say it in such a damning way – her only knowledge was from kid friendly school programs, where meth and pot and beer were all jumbled into one category and any experimentation from one will turn you into a murderous psychopath. They didn’t tell the kids most addicts had underlying mental illnesses or unresolved trauma, or how the most popular gateway drugs are prescription medication for pain or ADHD.

But Prompto figured that was a talk for Gladio as well.

“Yeah,” Prompto sighed. “Uncle Noctis was doing drugs. I…I don’t think anyone knew, though. I think he was really good at hiding it.”

“So you never found out?”

Another knife in Prompto’s chest.

_“Just – please. I love you, I mean it, I – I’m sorry – “_

“No,” Prompto lied. “I never found out.”

_“I do love you. You believe me, don’t you? Tell me, please.”_

“I bet if you did know,” Iris whispered. “You coulda stopped him. He would listen you.”

“You think so?” Prompto mumbled, his throat constricting.

“ _You promised, Noctis. No more pills. No more hard stuff.”_

_“B – I – Prom. Baby, please, I’m sorry. I love you. Really! I’m sorry. I – I had a few bad days is all – “_

_“You’ve been slurring and nodding for two weeks, Noctis. I’m not stupid.”_

_“Baby…”_

_“I have to think about this. You hurt me and you’re hurting yourself. Snorting pills is up there with you hitting me and cheating on me. It’s a hard limit and you knew this. I went through it with my parents and I can't go through it again.”_

_“Just – tell me you still love me, please.”_

_“I do but I need to think."_

_“Just – tell me. Please? I need to know you love me, just – just say it, please – “_

“Yeah,” Iris said with a smile. “You loved him. Everybody knows.”

After a few moments Prompto released the girl from his embrace and was thankful the tears stayed at bay. Iris, thankfully none the wiser, asked if they could go inside and get some dinner. Prompto smiled and chatted and joked so well Iris didn’t notice he barely ate at all.

**

Prompto groaned, his legs twitching in the confines of the bed sheets. He stretched his legs as far as they would go, stretched until his calves burned, and then slowly relaxed them. His body was restless but his mind was exhausted. He wasn’t sure if this was a side effect from the sleeping medication or grief mixed with guilt. He considered texting Regis to cancel their plan for the following day, but decided against it. Regis deserved to know what was written in Noct’s notebooks. Prompto just hoped it wasn’t too much for him.

Prompto huffed, rolling on his stomach and star fishing his body. Within moments his eyes crept open to stare into the blackness enveloping him. No matter what position he slept in, Prompto’s eyes traveled to the painting on the right side of the bed, the painting that led to him and Noctis speaking in the first place. Prompto considered throwing it in the room with Noct’s things. He had meant to, many times, but somehow couldn’t bring himself too. It had belonged to Noctis, sure, but Prompto created it and it had been his first.

Prompto groaned. He wasn’t sure why he was so selfish with a damn painting. It wasn’t even that good.

He rolled away from the painting, forcing himself to think of Iris. She had loved her teddy bear and promised to sleep with it every night. Prompto didn’t care particularly, so long as she was happy with it. He had told Gladio and Iris about the comment that was made to her, but only after she had gone upstairs to put her things away.

Gladio had been pissed, but Prompto expected as much.

“She, uh, had questions about Noct, too. I answered as best I could, without, you know. I didn’t want to be morbid or anything.”

Gladio was leaned against the kitchen counter, his face in his hands and his jaw clenched. A small part of Prompto feared Gladio when he was angry. The larger man reminded Prompto of his own father, although he felt guilty for thinking so.

Ignis had both hands around Gladio’s shoulders, his lips leaving gentle kisses against the larger man’s temple. Prompto had looked away, a twinge of jealousy in his gut. He tried desperately not to notice how both men were freshly showered when Iris arrived home, or how Ignis was clearly in Gladio’s t – shirt. Iris either didn’t notice or paid no mind to the marks on her big brothers back and neck, or the slight bruise on Ignis’s throat. Prompto realized, as a child, she wouldn’t notice these things or think too hard on them, and he himself was thinking way to hard.

It wasn’t just sexual frustration that bothered Prompto – he barely wanted to get off at all lately – it was the pure normalcy that irked him. Domestic life, a boring nine to five job, a kid, some bills. Letting someone babysit said kid so you can do more than have quiet missionary or a quickie every now and then.

Prompto had day dreamed about these things, the way men his age day dreamed about new cars or getting laid. How desperately he wanted to give Noctis a quick kiss on the lips as he rushed off to work, Noctis grabbing something to eat on the road while Prompto wrestled a toddler into a shirt. How warm it had made him feel to think about a baby laying on his chest, drool staining his shirt as he and Noctis both napped while their child did, because holy shit that’s the only time they ever got to sleep any more.

How wonderful it must feel, having a little ring on your left hand.

Prompto tried – and was currently trying – not to be bitter. Anger he could understand. But not bitterness. He wasn’t a bitter person. So why was he suddenly hating any resemblance to a happy domestic life, wanting to shut out his only friends and not even watching T.V anymore? Every show pissed Prompto off. Why were they complaining about their kids, their wives, their jobs? Why was everything a competition, why did everyone want something better? Didn’t anyone know how lucky they are to have anything at all?

 _And home is not_  
_A solid foundation_  
_Anything can be ripped away_  
_Life’s just a magic trick_  
_But who’s the magician?_  
_I can be my own_

 _I can make myself disappear -_  
_But with a bang_  
_Or a cloud of smoke?_

Prompto didn’t know Noctis wrote poetry, all tucked away in the little striped notebook. None of the poems had dates, so they could have been from years ago. There were more written after that, but Prompto hadn’t read any more. The journals dating back to his after his first month in therapy to a week before his death were hard enough.

How long had Noctis felt this way – that life was bullshit, just smoke and mirrors? How long had he had suicidal thoughts? When he played into these fantasies, did he see himself soaking overnight in a cheap bath tub, his fingers and toes wrinkled and swollen and his jaw slack against a dirty wall? What did he call that – a bang, or a cloud of smoke?

“I’m sorry, baby,” Prompto whispered to the silence. “I’m so sorry.”

If nothing else, Noctis had been right. Anything could be ripped away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be some cuteness in this chapter! Hope you guys are ready!! Thanks for all the comments and kudos, they mean the world to me.

Unsurprisingly, the sports bar Prompto was expected to meet Regis wasn’t too crowded for Valentine’s Day. He easily spotted the man in a back booth, his elbows on the table and his chin in hands, staring at one of the many televisions mounted on the wall. He smiled when he saw Prompto and slightly raised his hand in greeting. Prompto returned the gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding the composition books.

“How you been, Prompto?” Regis smiled as the blond sat across from him, setting the books on the table. Regis eyed the books but said nothing.

“Alright I guess. What about you?”

Regis smiled weakly and shrugged.

“What would you like to eat, son?”

For the next forty-five minutes Regis and Prompto ate burgers and hot wings, Regis listening intently but not quite understanding Prompto as he tried to explain American Horror Story. Nevertheless, the older man agreed to at least watch the third season if nothing else. Although he didn’t know the boy well, it made him feel proud, seeing the young man talk about something of interest. Regis took notice of his bracelets that were revealed when Prompto rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt. The shirt he wore underneath bore lettering Regis couldn’t quite read. The young man talked with his hands and smiled with his eyes, and Regis could easily see how Noctis could have fallen for the blond before him.

Regis smiled and nodded as Prompto talked, all the while reminded of his son. Noctis had always been drawn to those who were compassionate and artistic, although he never knew how to say those things. Noctis, at times, couldn’t name the emotions that brewed inside him, sometimes drowning in backwashes of mood swings for weeks at a time. Regis would let his son be alone with his bed or video games, or occasionally take him fishing. When Noctis was feeling up for it, though, he could talk to his father about musicians and artists, anyone from Van Gogh to Marilyn Manson. Regis wondered if his son could feel the pain of these people. Was the pain the same as Noctis felt, or did it matter? Was it enough just knowing he wasn’t alone in his misery, even for a little while?

Prompto drank some of his Dr. Pepper, eyeing the television on the wall. He had been talking less over the past five minutes or so. Of course, his son’s books had been on his mind since he discovered their existence, but here, with Prompto, Regis felt a since of calmness. It was a paternal feeling, one he had only known with Noctis and later Gladiolus and Iris. He was dearly fond of Ignis, but had not known him until he was nearly seventeen and already enrolled in college. With the man before him, he wanted to know as well as protect.

“So,” Regis said after clearing his throat. “When Noctis first…told me about you, as a friend, he told me you were a painter.”

A small blush tinted Prompto’s cheeks, making the freckles that dusted his cheeks and nose all the more prominent. The more Regis focused on the man the more he noticed things Noctis would find beautiful: his freckles, the way he popped his fingers by bending them backwards from his palm, the slight gap between his front teeth and the way he clearly jelled some stray hairs and cowlicks down. Yes, Noctis would find these things beautiful, Regis was sure.

“Uh – yeah. At the time. I haven’t painted or anything in a long time, since I had to drop out of college.”

Prompto rubbed the back of his neck. He was never good at talking about himself, especially when it came to things he was good at. Regis chuckled.

“I’m sure my handful of a son kept you busy,” Regis commented warmly.

Prompto smiled. “Yeah,” he admitted, glancing at his empty plate. Had he really had such an appetite? “Noctis was quite the distraction – in a good way.”

Regis smiled, eyeing his own plate. Although neither spoke it, they felt a relief talking about the man they loved without remorse or sadness. Prompto chewed his lower lip and decided to break the ice.

“N – Noctis was an artist, too. I didn’t know. The uh, striped book has poetry he wrote in it. They’re really good.”

After a moment of silence, Regis spoke.

“I didn’t know either, I’m afraid.”

“He – he was really supportive of me though. My painting and drawing, and photography. He was my biggest fan.”

“I’m glad he loved you.”

And Regis meant it.

**

As odd as it sounded, Prompto felt a relief handing over the books to Regis, as though a small weight was lifted from his shoulders. Would he get the books back? It wasn’t really discussed, and Prompto wasn’t sure what to do with them anyway. All of Noct’s things would – eventually – be taken to a homeless shelter or Goodwill, but what do you do with a dead person’s thoughts? More than once Prompto had wondered what he would have done if a suicide note had been left for him. What do you do with those things? Throw them out? Burn them? Or just carry them around your whole life like a permanent pebble in your shoe? Nothing seemed like the right answer.

The blond pulled into a parking spot at a local grocery store on his way home. He had been neglecting some basic things at home, like shampoo, trash bags, food. He had the money, but damn if he didn’t have the energy to do more than work and pay the bills. Prompto would happily eat a stale Pop Tart for dinner so long as the lights and water were still on.

Still, he had to be an adult for at least twenty minutes. As he walked into the store he pulled up the list on his phone and grabbed a buggy. Last minute Valentine’s Day gifts were sparse on the shelves, but pink and white sprinkled cupcakes were in high demand. They weren’t on the list, but Prompto grabbed them anyway. As he made his way down the first isle to pick up some produce – “carrots or something” as his list suggested – he noticed a few looks from the other customers. He tried not to think on it, but after the third isle he was damn near paranoid. He had already casually checked down to make sure his zipper was up and he knew he didn’t smell bad, so what was the deal?

“Puppy!”

The squeal came from a child in a buggy as Prompto was trying to find the cheapest cereal brand. The young man turned out of instinct, expecting to see a service dog or at least a very confused toddler. Prompto saw the toddler, who was pointing at his feet. Prompto glanced at his feet, then behind him.

A small dog – a Chihuahua or some similar breed – was indeed in the store, directly behind Prompto. If he had to take a step back, he would have stepped on it. The dog was a reddish-brown color with a black muzzle and big, beady, black eyes. It was trembling, but didn’t all dogs that size shake? Its little ears were pointed directly up, but it’s tail was safely tucked between it’s legs. If Prompto didn’t know any better he would have assumed it was a baby fox.

“Well – hey there,” Prompto said warmly. He crouched down, and to his surprise the dog brushed its head against his knee. “You been following me around this whole time?”

Prompto held back a groan as he pet the dog’s head. He didn’t hate any animal, but small sizes weren’t his favorite. They seemed so fragile, and this one was definitely so. Its head felt smaller than Prompto’s palm and he could easily lift it with one hand.

Which is what Prompto did.

He lifted the little thing with his thumb and pinkie on opposite sides of it’s front legs. The dog crossed its back legs almost comically as Prompto held it against his chest and began walking to customer service. The blond tried desperately to not notice how the dog stopped trembling the moment Prompto picked it up.

Three employees rushed to Prompto as he approached the desk, as if he were a thief instead of a man with a three pound dog. Yes, he was aware he was not allowed to have pets in the store, no it wasn’t a service dog, no it wasn’t even his, he had no idea where it came from. After a total of two minutes, it was clear no one really knew what to do – or cared. They wanted the dog out as soon as possible.

“Well, it isn’t really mine, you know?” Prompto repeated. “I can’t just take it home with me.”

“Then leave it outside,” one of the employees shrugged. “I’m not cleaning up dog shit.”

Anger flashed through Prompto momentarily, but he held it down.

“I’ll take it to my car,” Prompto said as calmly as possible. “I’ll come back for my stuff and pay, and I’ll leave my information in case some one comes looking for it. Would that be okay?”

The same employee shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Prompto tucked the dog in his flannel shirt as best as he could as he walked out into the parking lot, now carrying it with both hands. The dog calmly got in the passenger seat and made no attempt to jump out as Prompto took off his long-sleeved shirt and wrapped it around the dog loosely – a girl, Prompto discovered.

“I’ll be back,” Prompto promised. “The Queen of Piggly Wiggly says you can’t come in.”

Prompto locked and closed his car, fighting the urge to kiss the dogs head.

_Don’t get attached_ , Prompto thought as he re entered the store and got his buggy.

_Someone’s looking for her_ , Prompto reminded himself as he grabbed some dog food, a bag of hard and a can of soft, just in case.

_You’re doing a good thing, but she belongs to someone_ , Prompto chided himself as a squeaky dinosaur somehow ended up in his cart as well.

As he approached his car with his things paid for, he noticed the dog still in his flannel shirt, but curled in a ball. There were cars parked on either side of Prompto’s and people going here and there through out the parking lot, but the dog paid them no mind, as if she were entirely content.

She jumped as Prompto unlocked the door and sat up as Prompto began unloading the groceries, letting out a squeak as she yawned. Prompto tried not to notice how cute that was. The dog was peaceful on the ride home, switching from staring out the window to climbing on Prompto’s lap and staring out his. Prompto was nervous having the dog climbing around, but she seemed content. Once parked at Prompto’s trailer, she waited patiently for the door to be opened.

Prompto set her on the ground, albeit nervously. She seemed calm and wasn’t flighty but the last thing he wanted was her running off. However, once sniffing around some, she squatted and began relieving herself. Prompto was thankful she hadn’t done that in the car.

Prompto grabbed her when she was finished and held her against his chest as he entered his home. She sniffed a little at the table and couch but made no move to run out the door. Feeling confident, Prompto began getting the groceries and dog food and bringing them into house. By the time he was finished, the dog was comfortable on the couch and watching the blond unload his groceries.

“You hungry?” Prompto asked, fighting hard not to use a baby voice. He grabbed two cereal bowls from the cabinet and set them on the counter. He could see the dog lift her head as he poured some dry food and water in the bowls. He sat in the floor and watched her eat. She seemed to enjoy her dog food and from what Prompto could tell she had all her teeth. He supposed they were in good condition. The dog jumped a little when Prompto began to pet her, but continued eating. Her fur was a little dingy. Prompto lifted her short hair but couldn’t see fleas or dirt.

Prompto suddenly felt a swell of panic. He had more than several pets when he was younger, but mostly cats and larger breed dogs. It didn’t help that Prompto’s mother was usually the one to care for the pets. She was better at caring for animals than people.

_Not now_ , Prompto thought. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Ignis.

_Hey. Sorry if it’s late, but what do you know about Chihuahuas?_

“Gonna figure out who you belong to,” Prompto whispered, scratching by her tail. “Yeah we are. Gonna get you home safe and sound. You’re such a good girl someone must have been taking care of you.”

The moment it was off Prompto’s tongue he knew it wasn’t entirely true. Again, he tried not to think of his mother, and how sometimes behaving is conditioned. Prompto’s phone buzzed, thankfully pulling him out of his thoughts and catching the small dogs attention.

_Feisty little bastards from my understanding. Why do you ask? Thinking of getting one?_

Prompto couldn’t withhold his smile as he sent a selfie with the dog. It took a couple tries for her to look at the camera, but once he got the one he liked he saved it to his phone. It was the first picture he had taken since Noctis died and he didn’t even realize it.

_She isn’t mine tho_ , Prompto added as his smile fell. _I found her but I think someone is lookin for her._

Ignis and Prompto chatted some, Ignis promising to bring Gladio and Iris over the next day to visit him and the dog, and bring some snacks for both. Prompto was looking forward to the visit and went through his groceries, figuring he could throw together something for lunch.

Prompto had never entertained his own guests, but he was more excited than nervous. It was the first time he had been excited since Noctis died, and he didn’t realize that either.

**

Prompto waited seven days.

An entire week. The first few days were rough, especially when figuring out a bathroom routine. She had her fair share of accidents, but always by the front or back door – no where Prompto couldn’t set a training pad. Prompto had nearly wept with joy Monday after work when he returned home to be greeted by the dogs running feet and gentle scratches as she tried to climb in his lap. She had greeted him just the same every day he returned home, and every morning she followed him to the door.

“See you later, I promise,” Prompto told her, no longer holding back his baby voice after Gladio and Ignis had both used it with her. “Be good, okay?”

On the fourth day, Prompto had ending his morning promise with a kiss to her tiny head.

After seven days, Prompto found a permanent marker and sat down by her unassigned food and water bowls. He sat with his legs crossed, tapping the marker against his thigh with one hand and resting his chin on the other. The dog was sitting on an old throw pillow watching television. Prompto was sure she wasn’t actually watching the show, but Prompto swore she sat silently when Property Brothers was on. Prompto would watch it with her sometimes and liked to comment on the interior design choices.

“ _Gold wallpaper_?” Prompto asked her. “Straight people are so tacky. I’d kill them both.”

Prompto had no problem admitting the dog was helping in some way. It wasn’t like she was offering him advice or she could even listen, but it was still nice having someone to talk to other than himself that wouldn’t treat him like someone had died.

Prompto was still grieving – he was sure of that. He wasn’t sure if he would ever heal. But this dog had brought joy in a time of need and he had all intentions and purposes in making her his. Before he could think any further, however, his phone buzzed. Prompto was surprised to see it was Regis. He hadn’t heard from him since the night Prompto gave him Noct’s journals.

“Hello?” Prompto asked as he answered.

“Hey, son. How are you?”

“Not bad.” Prompto smiled as the dog turned to look at him, her head tilted. “I got a dog. How about you? How are you?”

Regis chuckled. “I’m alright. I’m glad you got a dog – what kind?”

As Prompto recanted his story he stood, stretching his legs and scratching his neck. His unnamed dog rested her head back on her outstretched legs, her attention back on house selling. Prompto leaned against the kitchen counter as Regis began talking about Noctis’s dogs he had when he was younger. Prompto always enjoyed sharing conversations about Noctis that weren’t secrets – Regis knew about his abuse and his childhood, but Prompto knew Noct nearly wreaked his car and was so shook up he threw up for two days, and that he cried when he accidentally broke a pair of Prompto’s glasses.

People were like that, Prompto knew. No one was truly an open book. Everyone was entitled to secrets and things they didn’t always share, and memories that don’t seem important, but they’re memories all the same. It was nice sharing new things about the man they loved, albeit sometimes hard, but there was something special about discuss memories Noct shared with the both of them.

“I still can’t believe he tried to lie about knocking over the table,” Regis laughed. “He was so worried I was going to be mad at Umbra – as though I had the gall to be mad at such a good dog. Noct truly thought I’d believe him, as if he were big enough.”

“Was this – was he five? Or six?” Prompto couldn’t suppress his smile as he stared at the ceiling, sitting back in the floor with his back against the counter and his elbows against his knees. “He’s told me so many stories about Umbra and Pryna I get them mixed up.”

“Oh, hell,” Regis sighed. “I hardly remember. They were damn good dogs though. Have you got this one to a vet?”

“No,” Prompto answered honestly. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt though. I’ll try to schedule it in sometime in the next few weeks. I don’t even have a name for her yet.”

“If you like I can take her to the one I took Umbra and Pryna too. She’s still in town and I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem to take care of the bill and dog sit while you’re at work. I’d love to, in fact.”

Prompto chewed his lower lip. It wasn’t the first time Regis had offered him money or other things – food, gas, a place to stay. But all the other times Prompto could politely and confidently decline. This wasn’t for him, though. Prompto glanced at his dog and had the urge to pick her up and hold her. What if she was abandoned because she was sickly, or didn’t have shots? There was no way Prompto could loose her, but the vet bill and time away from work would really put a dent in his bank account, even though he wasn’t really doing any extravagant spending.

Prompto knew he had to swallow his pride and take all the help he could get.

“Uh – actually, that’d be great if it isn’t too much trouble. I’ll help any way I can with the bill, though.”

“I’ll call and figure out the soonest she can be seen and let you know. I’m really looking forward to seeing her and you. Would it…be too much trouble if I stopped by your place? I regret never visiting you and Noct.”

_Please take some of his stuff._

“Of course,” Prompto said, biting back his thoughts.

After several more minutes, Regis had to go. Prompto glanced at his dog, happy to see she was asleep. He wondered if he was selfish for wanting Regis to take his dead son’s things away from him, but like the journals – what was he supposed to do with them? Prompto realized Regis hadn’t even mentioned them. They were hard to read, though, Prompto knew. Some rambled on for pages at a time, some pages were just one or two lines. Some passages ended abruptly with unfinished sentences. There were date gaps – sometimes Noct would write every day for weeks, then the next passage would be from two months later. Some only had the month and year written on the first line, while some passages had no date whatsoever. Prompto would be surprised if Regis had even finished them. He had only finished them in such a short period of time because he had numbed himself to the painful, self loathing, and depressing rants.

Prompto uncapped the marker in his hand without a thought. He wanted a gentle name for his dog, something sweet, and kind, because he needed sweetness and kindness more than anything else. It had felt nice taking Regis’s kindness, and Prompto realized Gladio, Ignis, and even Iris had given him kindness too. Prompto would have to take what more they gave him, but not without giving some back in return.

Prompto thought of a memory, something warm. He had been ten years old and chubby – overweight, really – and he and his parents were living with family and friends and friends of family for about two years or so. Their drug abuse had sky rocketed, as did his fathers physical abuse. The place they were living though, there was a woman who’s face he couldn’t quite recall, but her kindness stuck with him through all these years.

_“Come here,” She had told him, handing him his first sketch pad. “I’ll teach you to draw something. It takes your mind off things, yeah?”_

Prompto hadn’t done anything artistic in a long time – he hadn’t had the inspiration. Still, art had saved him, and it had saved Noctis, even if not forever. Prompto wrote the womans name on the dog’s dish as neatly as he could.

_Josephine._

“But Josie for short,” Prompto whispered.

And Josie she would stay.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> This chapter is going to have some recreational drug use as well as mentions of sex. I hope you guys enjoy, and thank you for the comments and kudos! I wish everyone happy holidays.

Prompto took what felt like the hundredth deep breath of the day.

He was anxious to begin with, and loading Noct’s things in garbage bags didn’t help. He felt guilty, but what was he supposed to do – donate his things in designer suitcases? Still, Prompto tried to remember that he was doing a good thing. He knew first hand homeless shelters were no place any one wanted to be, and they were usually over crowded and under staffed, mostly counting on donations and things of the such. He and Noct had donated to this shelter before, but usually a bag for the both of them to share, usually once in the spring to donate old winter clothes and in the fall to donate summer clothes. Prompto felt foolish as he opened the metal box meant for donated clothes, books, and toys. Noctis had picked the shelter himself, and Prompto never thought much of it.

It was a private shelter, for children who suffered sexual abuse and were in between homes with their family and foster homes. The house itself was set back, privately covered with trees and shrubs. A security camera pointed at the donation box several feet away and Prompto was sure there were more leading to the shelter and knew there were three security officers working at all times. The shelter looked – from the outside, at least – like a retreat. It was three stories and brick, as wide as the building was tall. The shrubs and lawn were mowed neatly and there was an archway that greeted anyone coming through the driveway; in the summer the archway would be covered in roses.

The shelter was not only for children who had suffered abuse, but was also a nonprofit that gave them therapy and homeschooling. The children stayed here either until their trials were over, or until they found a safe home.

Prompto set the first bag in carefully. Iris had donated a few old clothes, so he didn’t feel as bad for donating mostly adult clothes. Noctis hadn’t been too large and Prompto was certain a teenager could wear some of the stuff. Along with the clothes, Prompto donated a few of Iris’s stuffed animals and a couple blankets.

After all the bags were safely in the donation box, Prompto began to head home. He didn’t feel as though a weight was lifted – his anxiety was through the roof. His palms were sweaty and he felt as though he may be sick. He knew it was going to be hard, but he had expected some form of relief. He had felt that when Regis had entered the bedroom of Noct’s belongings and asked if he could be alone a moment. Prompto had given him time, and felt a weight off his shoulders when Regis exited with Noctis’s fishing gear.

Prompto became brave when he left and began to load up the rest of Noct’s things, but his anxiety only grew and grew.

Two nights before, Prompto had woken up to Josie dry heaving and she vomited on the bed before Prompto could get her off. Prompto washed the bedsheets and realized he hadn’t done so since Noctis died. He felt as though he was washing away the memory of him, but what else was he supposed to do? It was just bedsheets, why did he feel so damn guilty? Why did Prompto feel as though Noct was right beside him, judging his every movement? Or worse – sometimes it felt as though Noct was beside him, wondering why Prompto was in such a rush to get over him.

“I’m not,” Prompto said out loud. A lump rose in his throat and he knew the tears would be coming. Alone in his car he let them fall, thankful it wasn’t one of the sniffling and choking crying fits he was prone to from time to time. Prompto still cried, and figured he always would, so long as the swollen lonesome in his being remained. The lonesome was a ghost all in itself. An irritated itch, a toothache. A constant reminder.

It hurt the most when Prompto was happy. When Prompto was happy, he wanted to tell Noctis. Even months after, it was his first thought: _Wait til Noct sees this. Oh my God, Noctis is gonna love this_. And suddenly, Noctis was a cloud of smoke and all Prompto had was a bursting pain.

Josie helped some. She didn’t like it when Prompto cried. She would scratch whatever body part she could reach and stare at him, her beady eyes neither asking a question nor offering advice. She would let Prompto hold her and sometimes licked his tears, but neither of them liked that too much. It was nice just to have her close and to pet her, although Prompto couldn’t figure out why. He talked to her some. Prompto would never tell anyone that, but sometimes he swore she could hear him, or at least knew he was in pain.

Prompto was still crying some when he arrived home. Despite his pain, he was happy Josie was waiting for him. She was in good health, according to the vet, and Prompto was free of doubt – Regis had paid for X-Rays to check for blockages, blood work, vaccines, as well as a surprise for the blond.

“A chip?” Prompto had asked, holding his tiny dog close to his chest. She was exhausted from the shots, tests, and the thermometer up her ass. Poor thing.

“Yes!” Regis had said, pointing between Josie’s shoulders. “It didn’t take a moment to put in and she didn’t yelp or anything. I doubt she felt it.”

And so, Prompto had a healthy dog that he could find, should she ever get lost. Not that Prompto ever let her out of his sight. Josie didn’t seem to mind. She seemed to hate being away from Prompto, and he was reminded of this when he walked into his home to hear her nails across the floor. He accepted her love graciously, picking her up and walking to the kitchen.

“What do we do, Miss Josie?” Prompto asked, opening the refrigerator. He was getting better at keeping his food well stocked, but it was his appetite that was dwindling.

Prompto closed the refrigerator and walked to the now empty room – almost empty, anyway. The twin size bed was still there, along with a chest of drawers. Having all of Noct’s things out made it seem more haunted somehow. Hollow, almost. Prompto set Josie down and after sniffing for a moment, made her way out of the room. Prompto wanted to follow suit, but he was drawn to Noct’s poetry journal that lay awaiting under a disheveled throw blanket on the bed.

Regis had asked if he could return it. He understood what was written, he said, but only on a literal level. He wasn’t “an artist”, Regis had confided. He felt as though Prompto would appreciate the journal more than he could. And what was Prompto supposed to say?

Prompto sat at the edge of the bed and lifted the blanket the book was hiding beneath. He was allowed to read it, wasn’t he? He had done so once. So why did it feel wrong now? Prompto couldn’t figure out why. When he read it the first time, had he read it on a literal level? Perhaps. He had read them as quickly as he could, which was easy considering most were very short.

Prompto took the book and flipped it open. None of the poetry had the answers. Neither did the journals, and that’s what Prompto had been looking for the first time he read through everything. Just anything, any reason as to why Noctis had done what he did. Sure, there was the abuse, the drugs, the self-loathing, but why did some people make it through and some couldn’t? Why did Noct have to fall into the latter?

_The wind rattles_   
_Window panes and bones_   
_My soul has left_   
_For warmer weather_   
_It never takes me along_

Prompto read it again, and once more. His boyfriend, his best friend, his lover, had felt hollow. Alone. Cold. Prompto slowly read a few more, carefully marking the pages of the ones he could decipher on a different level. At least he thought so – it wasn’t like Noct was around to tell them what they truly meant or anything.

_And sometimes I feel_   
_As though I’m strung together with scraps_

Another carefully marked page.

_Dreaming is no desire_   
_When your dreams are only memories_

Prompto marked another page, and after reading it several times he felt his gut twist. Long ago, his mother had told him most opioids and benzos caused you to sleep without dreaming, similar to a black out.

_Silence is the heaviest thing I’ve carried_

The damn lump in Prompto’s throat was returning.

_The heaviness creeps in slowly –_   
_It knows I’m going to let it in_   
_It overstays its welcome_   
_But it knows I won’t tell it to leave_

Prompto has to set the book aside for a moment. He swallowed deeply, not wanting to accept the feeling that was coming but knew he had to do it any way. He was thinking of his parents, specifically his mother. It was very easy to hate them – it always had been. It was easy to think of them as child abusing, drug addicted narcissists when he was hungry, or alone, or saw children interact normally with their parents. He smoked pot occasionally and drank from time to time, but when it came to pain and anxiety, he never took anything stronger than Excedrin. Prompto was afraid of becoming half of what his parents were and never understood how people could fall so deep in that rabbit hole, simply because he never had.

_I’m such a judgmental prick._

The thought came to Prompto slowly and without bitterness. When Noctis had died, it was easy to turn to alcohol for some sort of numbness. Getting back to work helped him taper off and he still had a drink every now and then, but hadn’t been drunk in some time. But still, there had been a period of his life where he needed to not feel, and was this how his parents had felt, just more out of hand? Noctis as well?

Prompto rose, but carried the book with him. He went into the kitchen and made Josie some food, who happily pranced around his feet. Once he was finished, Prompto began texting Ignis, who agreed to meet him on short notice. Prompto hated asking, but he felt as though he needed someone else’s opinion and it was a lot for the blonde to take in at once.

“What am I to do, Miss Josie?” Prompto asked as he sat on his couch, lifting his dog. She stared back, but didn’t have answers either.

**

Prompto relayed his woes to Ignis over two bowls, the pipe and lighter passed between them. Prompto found himself staring at the pipe while he talked – it was glass, swirled with deep blues and purples and specks of yellow and white. It reminded Prompto of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It was nice having something to stare at other than Ignis’s reddening eyes, because Prompto knew if he looked up while he talked he was going to turn into a blubbering mess yet again. Prompto felt as though he had cried enough for one day.

Ignis listened intently. He was somewhat relieved Prompto had called him; Ignis still worried about him, and Gladio had as well. The latter man just wasn’t that well at expressing it. Ignis prided himself in many things, but listening and being in tune with others feelings was something he felt he did superbly. Prompto mentioned the journals and Noct’s drug abuse, which were surprises to him, but when Prompto began telling him about his parents own drug abuse, Ignis was more familiar with the pain that he intended to let on. Prompto rambled some, but Ignis felt he knew what Prompto was truly having trouble understanding.

“Prompto, may I tell you something that may be out of the way?” Ignis’s voice was gentle and he tried to meet the other’s eye. They met, but only for a moment.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to forgive them.”

Prompto’s mouth opened, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He met Ignis’s eyes again, this time unwavering.

“Are you sure?” Prompto hated the squeak in his voice.

“Certainly. If you want to try and form a relationship with them, that’s alright. But with your childhood and so much loss of trust, it may be difficult to have a parental relationship. But you could try having an adult relationship, if you so crave one.” Ignis shifted slightly, licking his lips. “However, that is up to you entirely. If they’ve cut you off, it isn’t your responsibility to recreate a relationship. It may actually cause more pain if you feel rejected twice.”

Prompto let these things sink in slowly. As usual, Ignis was making sense. He hadn’t even considered his parents still wanting nothing to do with him. Didn’t they miss him? There was a chance they didn’t, no matter how open minded Prompto had become. Prompto chewed his lower lip for a moment before speaking again.

“Ignis, when did you realize you were in love with Gladio?”

Surprise spread across the other mans face, but only briefly. It took a moment for him to answer.

“Well, I suppose it was at the end of our second date. With our sexuality we tried…not being so open; I’m sure you understand. Our first date was at the movies, where we could hold hands in the dark. Our second date was out to lunch, and when he took me home, Gladio asked if he could walk me inside.” Prompto noticed a tint to Ignis’s cheeks. “I agreed, thinking something…lewd. I was – I found Gladio rather attractive, and wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with me, so I figured, well, if all he wanted was a physical aspect, we could get that out in the open and go separate ways, if need be.”

Prompto was rather intrigued. He had never seen Ignis trip over his words the way he was doing now. He considered asking about their sex life just for a laugh, but decided against it. He did, however, use Ignis’s pause to his advantage.

“So you guys fucked?”

“N – no! Not – then. That day,” Ignis cleared his throat, the tint in his cheeks a full blown blush. “That day, Gladio wanted to share a kiss with me. He didn’t want to do it outside, or at the restaurant. He simply kissed me, and offered to leave. I told him he could stay, and talked until it was almost dinner time. Before he left, he told me he wanted to dance with me.”

Prompto tried not to notice how Ignis’s eyes had shifted and his lips had lifted into a slight smile, recalling the memory. Would Prompto ever be able to do this with memories of Noctis?

“We danced, with no music. Then he left.”

“And you were in love?”

“Deeply.”

Prompto chewed his lower lip again. He wasn’t real sure why he had changed the subject. In a way, it was nice to know something about the man who had helped him so much, especially when Prompto had revealed so much about himself.

“So what about you?” Ignis inquired. “When did you realize you were in love with Noctis? You said he wrote when he fell in love with you in his journals. What about you?”

A pain hit Prompto in the chest. He had told Ignis that, hadn’t he? And – fuck. Regis had read about it. Oh, well, nothing Prompto could do now. At least Regis hadn’t looked at him differently after reading about his son giving him head on the hood of his ’65 Mustang. Prompto could still feel the heat of the hood under his palms and hear Noctis’s knees hitting the dirt. Prompto had been so nervous he hadn’t even unbuckled his belt, but Noct hadn’t minded doing it for him. Thankfully Noctis hadn’t wrote about Prompto returning the favor and finishing on Prompto’s face, hair, and glasses because the latter had mistaken “Stop” for “Don’t stop”. It had been, “Fucking hot”, in Noct’s opinion, but a bitch to clean.

“I think I fell in love before we really knew each other,” Prompto admitted. “The college I was in was doing this art show or whatever and me and some others had a booth set up. Noctis was the first person to walk up to the booth, and he took one look at one of my paintings and said, “You must be haunted.” “

Ignis didn’t speak as Prompto tried to find his next words.

“No one had ever been able to read me so well. It was a shock, I guess. He told me he loved the painting; talked about the leafless trees, the empty land, the use of black and grey. It’s a really depressing piece and he read it so well – he read me so well. I felt like an open book. He had paid in cash, and gave me his dads business card with his number on the back. We talked for almost a month before we even started dating.”

“Dating being driving around in the Mustang, in the dead of night?”

“We weren’t as brave as you and Gladio,” Prompto smiled. “And, I mean, there was some excitement; we were both adults but we felt like we were sneaking out to fool around. We…” Prompto’s voice trailed.

“Fucked in the Mustang?” Ignis inquired with a smirk. It was Prompto’s turn to blush.

“Ugh – never inside,” Prompto stated with faux sternness. “We smoked pot together. A couple times. Noct had never tried it and he was curious. He had talked to me about…you know. Doing harder stuff. He said he was coming off it, and all that. So one night he picked me up and I had some already rolled, and when we parked he tried hitting it and couldn’t stop coughing. He could smoke cigarettes and all, but he couldn’t get the hang of holding it in. So I offered to show him how to shot gun and…”

Prompto chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Very intimate,” Ignis commented.

“It was…the first time we made out. And that led to…you know…other intimate stuff. We didn’t start having sex that night, just…hickies and figuring out what we liked, I guess. I always assumed I loved him, but I think that was the night I really knew.”

_“God, Prom, you’re so beautiful.”_

_“You are too,” Prompto whispered, half hard and lust drunk. Noct’s lips were barely brushing his collarbone._

_“No – not like you. You’re so whole, and warm. I feel like my touch is going to stain you. Can I keep going? Is it okay?”_

_“Please touch me, please.”_

“We were listening to My Chemical Romance,” Prompto said suddenly. “I just remembered. Helena, I’m pretty sure.”

Ignis’s phone began to chime in his pocket.

“Hell,” he whispered, digging it out. “Apologies. It’s Gladio.”

“It’s alright if you gotta go. I’ve kept you here long enough.”

“It seems I do have to leave,” Ignis grunted. “Iris is having some trouble with homework and says she isn’t feeling well. Got a high temperature as well.”

“Tell her I hope she feels better. If you guys need anything, let me know, okay?”

“It’s appreciated,” Ignis smiled. “One last thing?”

“Yeah?”

“When I said you didn’t have to forgive them, I wasn’t just referring to your parents. It’s okay to still be angry and hurt with Noctis.” Ignis rose, stuffing his pipe in the pocket of his jeans. “I’m afraid we’re all still hurt.”

Later that night Ignis’s thoughts rose in his mind as Prompto touched himself in the shower, spurred by thoughts of his dead lover. He had tried getting off to almost everything else, but nothing could even keep him hard like thoughts of Noctis. Head against his forearm on the shower wall, Prompto didn’t hold his sounds back. Noctis’s name was fixed between his babbles, the sounds Noctis loved the most.

_“I drive you crazy, baby?” Noctis would taunt him. “You can’t say a complete sentence, my asshole that good around your cock?”_

Prompto secretly loved being teased by him, seeing the glint in his eyes while he rode Prompto slowly, gripping his hands tenderly despite his taunts. When Prompto bottomed, however, it was Noctis that took things slow – his thrusts, his kisses, even the way he never broke eye contact through the filters of his bangs seemed more intimate.

“Fuck – fuck me, fuck -  “ Prompto’s finish startled him. He stood another moment, breathing heavily, before slowly making his way out of the shower.

He laid in bed that night, Josie curled to his side, thinking about Ignis’s words.

“Maybe a part of me is still hurt,” Prompto whispered. “I just don’t know what to do. Am I always gonna feel this way, Miss Josie?”

Prompto’s eyes began to get heavy as he realized it didn’t hurt as bad as he thought, talking about Noctis to Ignis. He wondered what he could do with the poetry; he never finished re reading them. He’d have to get around to doing that, marking the rest of the ones he thought he understood.

He stroked the sleeping dog’s ear, falling asleep shortly after.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Posting a little early as I'll be pretty busy this weekend, so I hope you guys don't mind! The pain train is back at full speed for this update, but I still promise a happy as I can ending. I can't thank you all enough for the comments and kudos! I hope everyone enjoys! <3

A roommate.

Prompto was mulling over the thought, and had been for a week or so. Gladio had brought it up offhandedly while the three men and Iris shared lunch at Kenny Crowe’s. He hadn’t meant anything by it, Prompto was sure, but it left a strange emotion inside that Prompto couldn’t quite name. He had roommates in college and had been homeless from time to time through out childhood, but he never liked the idea of sharing space or a bathroom or anything, really.

“What do you think, Miss Josie?” Prompto asked as the show went on commercial. “You want someone around other than me?”

She climbed on his chest and sniffed his chin and mouth, her way of giving kisses. He stroked her back and scratched behind her ear.

“Stinky breath,” Prompto said playfully, kissing her head.

He groaned as he rose, picking up his cereal bowl and bringing it to the kitchen. Despite not wanting to, he rinsed it out and put it away. He was getting better at keeping the place clean, but Prompto had his bad days. Even on his bad days, however, he made sure Josie was fed and walked, which made his bad days not so bad. He was considering making her an emotional support dog, but he wasn’t sure. Prompto didn’t necessarily need her all the time, and there was no way he could take her to the factory forty-five hours a week.

She was a sweet dog, however, and Prompto wasn’t sure how he had gotten so lucky with her. He had his fears, however, of her running away or her previous owner showing up and Josie happily running into their arms. It had been almost a month, however, and neither of these things had happened. She was even responding to her name. She didn’t like it the several times Prompto had yelled, be it stubbing his toe or dropping a plate and breaking it. She hated or feared the vacuum cleaner; Prompto wasn’t sure which. Josie hadn’t quite figured out getting under the covers. She would scratch Prompto’s arm or shoulder until he lifted them instead of lifting them with her snout. Perhaps Prompto was just spoiling her. Josie didn’t quite like being bathed, but she behaved until the blow dryer came out. She didn’t fuss about wearing a collar or having her nails clipped. The one time Prompto tried brushing her teeth did not end very well, however.

Prompto stretched out on the couch, trying to enjoy his Saturday. He knew Regis would be calling sometime today or tomorrow. Prompto felt uneasy about what the older man wanted to talk about, but Regis insisted. Prompto hadn’t mentioned the poetry or an idea he had. Regis hadn’t asked and maybe it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about.

  
At least it wasn’t just Prompto. For a while Prompto feared Regis was keeping in touch with him out of pity until his lunch last week. Gladio’s phone had chimed and he handed the phone to Iris, who answered excitedly.

“Hey Regis!” the girl had practically shouted. “I’m at Kenny Crowe’s! Bubby took me, with Iggy and Uncle Prommy.”

After a few minutes the call ended, and Gladio confided in Prompto that Regis checked up on them from time to time, and they returned the favor every now and then.

“He’s a good guy,” Gladio had said with a smile.

And so he was. It had taken him several months, but he had sold Noctis’s car. He wanted to give the money to Prompto, although he had taken a deal since the car needed a tune up and tires.

Still, two grand was more than Prompto needed, even with a dog. He wasn’t sure how to tell the man no, however. Prompto was certain Regis felt guilty for selling the car. But what was he supposed to do with it?

It was a question Prompto never seemed to stop asking – what do you do with all that remained, the things the dead didn’t need? Dead people certainly left behind more than they took.

He hadn’t been in the room since he donated all of Noct’s things. A part of him still hurt, and he was so sick of hurting. He was sick of the lonesome and the aches and the quiet reminders he wasn’t enough.

It was childish, Prompto knew. He couldn’t blame himself, although he still did. A part of him knew he always would. It was an ache no amount of drugs or sex or dogs or friends could shake. The God forsaken what ifs. What if Prompto hadn’t been so stern when he found the pills? What if Prompto hadn’t left? What if Prompto never found the pills at all? What if Noctis just went on a little binge and got back on sobriety?

Prompto knew it wasn’t that easy, but that was the worst what if. What if he hadn’t had intervened at all and Noctis was still alive and well? It didn’t work like that, though.

Prompto knew well enough. The thoughts were nagging nonetheless. He wondered if Ignis and Gladio felt the same, but was nervous to ask. He figured they all had their feelings, whatever they may be, and sometimes feelings were best kept private.

At some point Prompto had dozed, Josie contently curled in the space between his stomach and the edge of the sofa. It was that strange in between sleep where Prompto wasn’t aware he had begun to dream until his phone had vibrated against his thigh. Grumbling, he dug through his pocket and answered without looking.

“Hello?”

“Hey, son.”

Prompto slowly opened his eyes. There was an edge to Regis’s voice that Prompto hadn’t heard in quite some time – since the funeral, when he gave Prompto the photograph.

“H – hey, Regis. How are things?”

Prompto swallowed after a few seconds. Regis waited another few to respond.

“I have something to tell you. I’m not real certain how you’ll take it, but it felt wrong to hide it from you”

Prompto’s stomach dropped as if he were in an elevator. Josie lifted her head, but Prompto hadn’t noticed. His palms felt sweaty and he wasn’t certain if he could trust his voice.

He tried nonetheless.

“Fire away.”

**

Prompto was on his fourth – or maybe fifth – rum and coke when Gladio opened his front door. Prompto felt horrible, but looser. His eyes were stinging and his throat was raw, but his hands lacked the shake they had in them an hour before.

“Hey. Where’s lil Josie?”

Gladio’s voice was low as always. He smiled a little, but not much.

“Got her in the bedroom. Safe. Regis call you?”

Gladio’s eyes shifted but returned quickly. It hadn’t been a coincidence that Regis left and Gladio called shortly after, asking if he could visit, but he had hoped to play it off as such. It seemed Prompto was good at detecting bullshit.

“He did,” Gladio answered honestly. He sat next to Prompto – who was sitting in the floor, instead of the couch that he was leaned against – and smelled the alcohol on his breath. Still, he seemed steady enough. “He was worried about you. Said he didn’t want you to be alone, but he wasn’t sure how to help.”

Prompto took a swallow of his drink, setting the glass on the coffee table a little more harshly than he should have.

“Scared I’m gonna off myself?” It was asked in a whisper, but it was heavy all the same.

“That’s not funny, Prompto.” Gladio’s back tightened. Regis had warned him Prompto was upset. And, yes, maybe both men were afraid for Prompto’s safety.

“I’m not laughin’,” Prompto huffed. “Even if I wanted to it’s not like I can. Noct took my good knife and my work lanyard is a break away. Good on them, huh?”

Gladio counted to ten. If raising a little sister taught him anything, it was to deal with stubbornness.

“A lot of people care about you, Prompto. Even me. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Prompto grabbed his drink and finished it in one gulp, tipping his head back so far it rested against the couch cushion. He rose after a moment and made his way to the kitchen, stubbing his foot on the coffee table but walking straight the rest of the way.

“Want somethin’?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Gladio watched the other man carefully. He wasn’t sure if the alcohol was making Prompto angry or soothing it out of him. Gladio wasn’t even sure what had entirely happened. Regis had just told him he had found something for Prompto in Noctis’s car. Gladio wasn’t sure what it was and he wasn’t sure how to ask, but it had brought up some ill feelings – that was for sure.

“I meant what I said. I care about you. I wanna make sure you’re alright.”

Prompto huffed as he sat beside Gladio, some of his drink sloshing out of the side and dribbling onto his hand.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“What’s wrong?” Gladio asked, more hostile than he intended. “We all hurt, okay? It still hurts. I miss him too – me and you and Ignis and Regis and even Iris. Hell, people we don’t even know are still probably hurting. You’re allowed to be angry, but you can’t just keep it bottled up. Just…tell me something, _please_.”

Gladio watched as Prompto took a few gulps of his drink. This one was a much lighter color, presumably with more alcohol. He kept it in his hand pressed against his chest, as though Prompto was afraid the other man would take it from him. Gladio was trying to be patient but he was reaching his limits.

“How do you hurt?” Prompto asked, his upper lip raising, almost a snarl. “You get sad? Cry a little? Then go play with your sister? Drive where ever you want? Do you fuck Ignis or just lay beside him – which makes you feel better? And everyone else – they get to go home to people who love them and don’t want them dead. What the fuck do I have, _Gladdy_?”

Prompto’s voice had risen over the questions, almost shouting. His fingertips were white against the glass. Heat flashed across Gladio’s face; he had never been one for altercations. A part of him understood where Prompto was coming from, but he wasn’t being fair either.

“People hurt differently. That doesn’t make it any less, Prompto. You of all people should know that. I’m sorr – “

“ _Me of all people_?” Prompto asked, leaning forward closer to Gladio and squinting his eyes. “What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?”

_Fucking Christ_ , Gladio thought. Rule one of being sober around people drunk or getting drunk: don’t start arguments. There aren’t any other rules, because the first rule is hard enough.

“You’re kind, and empathetic,” Gladio said slowly, although his teeth were gritted. “You’re sweet. Noctis loved that about you.”

“ _Shut up about Noctis_!” Prompto shouted, slamming his drink in the little space between them. His other hand flew to his already messed up hair. “God dammit, he’s all I think about! All I dream about! He was here and then he wasn’t and it’s my fault! I know it! Can we just shut up about him?”

“Apparently not!” Gladio shouted back, his temper flaring. “You’re the one who’s got so much shit bottled up the only way you can handle an ounce of stress is by being a drunk asshole! So no! We need to talk about Noctis, before you do something fucking stupid!”

“Like this?” Prompto grabbed the drink between them and hurled it at the television across the room. Gladio barely had time to register what had happened before the drink was spewed across the floor and the glass was shattering against the entertainment system, not even a foot from the T.V. However, Gladio did have fast enough reflexes to catch Prompto’s fists as they came near his chest. He grunted in surprise, trying to shift his weight while Prompto was rising above him, trying to free his hands.

“Prompto – stop – “ Gladio huffed, his shoulder shoving the table away some and giving him room.

Prompto freed one hand and slapped Gladio squarely in the face. It stung, but not terribly so. Gladio was holding back as best as he could; he was all for using physical fights as a stress reliever. He would gladly be a punching bag for Prompto any day, so long as he had a fair warning. Being hit from the left field, however, Gladio was struggling to find the upper hand as a closed fist hit his temple and he fell back in surprise. Prompto was on top of the larger man quickly, grabbing his hair and giving it a good yank. He seemed to have lost interest in freeing his other hand, and Gladio used this to his advantage.

With little effort, Gladio slammed Prompto off him by yanking his trapped arm and raising his hips at the same time. Off balance and drunk to begin with, Prompto toppled easily.

“You fucker!” Prompto screamed. It was the first words he had spoken since starting the fight, and they stung almost as bad as the slap.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gladio groaned, twisting his wrist as he laid against Prompto’s stomach, trapping his waist and Prompto’s other arm as well. Prompto yelped, jerking the arm Gladio had twisted. The skin burn would be there tomorrow, but he was lucky Gladio wasn’t pummeling his face in the ground. “I’m a dirty bastard. You feel any better?”

“Go fuck yourself!” Prompto shouted. Gladio rolled his eyes and lifted himself off. The fight wasn’t over, it seemed. Prompto rose quickly on wobbly legs. Gladio’s face was pounding, so he felt as though Prompto was at an advantage. All Prompto had was a skin burn a third grader could give.

“Come on,” Gladio mumbled. “You done?”

“It should have been me!” Prompto shouted. “It was my fault! You’re just as stupid as he is! It – “

Prompto’s voice was cut off by Gladio delivering a smart slap to his face. Prompto’s entire body moved to the left, his legs almost giving out as spit and some blood collected at the corner of his mouth.

“I’d rather be hit that hear you talk with so much self-pity,” Gladio glared. “Noct’s dead and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. No one did it but him. What do you want to do?”

There was a moment of silence. A silence that, for a second, Gladio thought the slap and talk may have worked some sense into Prompto’s mind. However, Prompto was drunk and angry, a combination that didn’t always lead to rational thoughts. He pounced sloppily, an attack Gladio could have easily dodged had conditions been different. Gladio caught the man instead and held Prompto to his chest.

Prompto kicked and wiggled, Gladio keeping his grip as tightly as he could without hurting him. Somehow Prompto had ended up practically eye level with the taller man, his feet off the ground and Gladio being the only thing keeping him up. For a moment he considered hurting him a little, just to get him to calm down, but thought better of it. With a kick to his knee, however, Prompto had Gladio going down. The larger man grunted as he fell, but he kept Prompto against him, remembering to roll to his side as not to crush the smaller man. Prompto wiggled some and Gladio delivered a quick headbutt. He opened his eyes after Prompto cried out, and with the blood oozing from a now swollen lower lip, Gladio assumed his brow bone had made contact with Prompto’s mouth. He hoped like hell he didn’t mess up Prompto’s teeth; he was awfully insecure about them.

Guilt kicked in as Prompto still tried to wiggle away. Gladio rolled on top of Prompto, ready to end it. Prompto wasn’t putting up a fight. He must have been worn out.

“You okay?” Gladio asked, his voice soft as he could make it. Blood was smeared down Prompto’s chin and his cheeks were flushed.

“Off,” Prompto said, closing his eyes to not look into Gladio’s.

“Not til you chill out,” Gladio huffed.

“Please, dude, just get off.”

“How do I know you aren’t – “

Gladio’s words cut out quickly. His brain seemed to be in slow motion. When the gears finally clicked, it was his turn to blush.

He felt Prompto, erect with little to hide it against his stomach. Gladio rose slowly, trying to avoid looking at Prompto as he tried to adjust himself. Gladio sat, his knees drawn and his head back. He turned to see Prompto sitting as well. The sweat pants he was wearing did nothing to hide his arousal.

“Uh – listen. It’s not personal, I know. Or – I assume I know. I think it’s the alcohol and adrenaline, you know? I’m not gonna go around telling anyone. It's alright. Really.”

Gladio turned to smile at Prompto. The blond slowly reached out, gently caressing Gladio’s face where he had slapped. His fingers brushed the mark and stubble, his thumb reaching out to graze Gladio’s lower lip. Gladio felt his stomach twist. Prompto’s own lips parted without his knowledge, and he leaned in a little too slow, slow enough for Gladio to gently put his hand between them.

His parting lips were met with Gladio’s open palm.

“You’ll regret me for the rest of your life,” Gladio said softly. “Let’s not do this. Okay?”

Prompto pulled back. It pained Gladio to see the look of reject flash across his face, but what was he to do? Even if Gladio didn’t love Ignis, he wouldn’t be able to kiss Prompto with a clear conscious knowing he had so much to drink.

Still, the knot in Gladio's stomach grew when Prompto began to cry.

“I’m so – sorry, Gladdy, Oh my – God, Gladdy I – “

It took a couple minutes to calm him down. Gladio rubbed his back and led him to the couch, where he let Prompto rest his head on his lap. Gladio twirled his fingers through the tangle of golden locks while Prompto blubbered drunken apologies. Gladio accepted them, knowing this wasn’t the person Prompto was. As he told Prompto, the erection must have been from the adrenaline and roughing around; he’d had similar embarrassing experiences exercising in clothes that were too tight. Trying to kiss him had much to do with alcohol, Gladio assumed.

Gladio also wondered how long it had been since Prompto had had any physical contact other than a hand shake or a quick hug from Regis. Guilt weighed heavily on Gladio. He had let Prompto fight him and had fought back when all he needed was a damn hug.

Once Prompto was calm, Gladio picked him up and carried him bridal style to the bathroom. He was sure Prompto could walk, but he let the smaller man have this moment. Gladio sat him down carefully on the bathroom counter and began digging through his small medical supply. He found Q-tips and alcohol, which he carefully applied to Prompto’s lip. Using his thumb, Gladio gently pried Prompto’s swollen lips apart to see no damage to Prompto’s teeth, that weren’t really that bad to begin with. Prompto put up no fight as Gladio practically man handled him.

Gladio found little paper cups for mouthwash and filled one with tap water.

“Drink,” Gladio said gently. “Maybe you won’t be super hungover tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” Prompto whispered, taking the cup anyway. He downed it like a shot. Gladio was able to get five more cups of water before Prompto stated he would puke if he drank any more. Gladio figured he was going to be hungover regardless.

He lifted Prompto from the waist, cradling him and carrying him like a child. It was awkward physically, but it was something Gladio filed under Things Bros Do For Bros One Time That You Don’t Bring Up. Gladio himself had a few things filed under that list.

Gladio laid Prompto on the bed as gently as he could. Josie ran out from under the bed and jumped onto it, startling Gladio. She sniffed Prompto, who lazily rose to pet her. Gladio glanced around the room and saw her food and water dish, as well as a training pad that had been used. Oh well. Nothing that couldn’t be cleaned in the morning. Gladio glanced at Prompto, who was beginning to fall asleep. Gladio shut his light off and closed the door after covering him up.

With shaking hands Gladio had begun to clean up some of the mess. It was karma, he was sure. When his father died he had taken a baseball batt to his dad’s Jeep for no reason other than it made him think of his dad. He didn’t stop until he pulled a muscle in his back and he had bits of glass in his face. Someone in his family had cleaned up that mess, and now it was his turn to clean this one. At least no one had glass in their face.

After the living room was back in order, Gladio made his way to the kitchen. He picked up a paper towel thinking it was garbage only to feel something inside. Carefully, he discovered a blank CD inside, the ones you burn your own music on. His heart was in his throat for a brief moment, his mind unwilling to comprehend not only what was written on it, but who had written it.

In Noctis’s handwriting and black Sharpie, sentences covered the entire side of the CD.

_I love you Prom. I know you cant forgive me. I dont expect you to. But please dont blame yourself. Youre too good for me and I stained you. Im sorry. I really am. But I do love you. Our time together was the daylight of my life & Im so happy I was your night. Im sorry a million times over. I hope this soothes you – my songs that talk for me. My books are under mattress. Pls take care of yourself & dont do anything stupid Prom! I LOVE YOU – YOUR NIGHT_

The last few lines got smaller and smaller, the left side suffering a slight smear, but was still legible. So there had been a note, or whatever you wanted to call it, after all. Months later, and they had a last goodbye. It felt as though Prompto was just starting to get on track. Hell, they all had been, or so it seemed. Gladio wondered what songs were on this CD and what books he had been talking about, but a small part of him didn't want to know at the same time.

Gladio stuffed it back into the paper towel and set it where he found it. He called Ignis and briefly went over the details – excluding the erection and almost kiss. Gladio wasn’t sure if that was something he should tell Ignis or not. He’d have to sleep on it. Either way, it was something that should be told face to face, once Prompto had the chance to talk it out sober.

Gladio stretched out on the couch, ready to greet Prompto the next morning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> Sorry this is a little late! I needed to work on my car this weekend so that put a damper on plans (where's Cindy when you need her?) but after this there will be two more chapters coming! Although this fic is soon to be over, I will have a blog up that will take requests up shortly so you can feel free to send things there! Thank you for the comments and kudos, and keeping up with all this! I hope you guys enjoy.

Prompto felt like shit, and in more ways than one. He was grateful he hadn’t vomited but was seriously considering that would be better than the dull throb he’d had in the back of his skull all morning. It wasn’t his first hang over by a long shot, but every time he had one he remembered why he didn’t like to drink in the first place.

Prompto couldn’t look Gladio in the eye. He remembered the majority of what happened, but wished he didn’t.

“I’m so sorry,” Prompto mumbled through his hands. His eyes were closed and his fingertips massaged his brow bone, trying desperately to ignore the plate of scrambled eggs and toast before him and his throbbing lower lip.

“I know,” Gladio said, kindly. “It’s alright. If anything I’m glad I was here so you didn’t do anything worse.”

“You didn’t deserve what I did.”

Prompto felt a warm hand in between his shoulder blades. He dared a peek behind him and saw the larger man smiling.

“No harm done,” Gladio laughed. “Hell, I’ve had drunk chicks grab my dick or ask if they could blow me in the bathroom. Trust me, I’d rather be sucker punched.”

Prompto decided to drop it, but still wondered how Ignis would feel. He felt sick imagining the man angry at him. Prompto began picking at his eggs with his fingers. They were pretty good; Gladio didn’t brag about being a good cook but he certainly was one. Gladio sat across from him at the table and ate his own plate of eggs.

The paper towel sat in between them. Prompto supposed there was more than one elephant in the room, although both made his stomach turn. Prompto wanted to ask Gladio if he had told Ignis about the night before. Prompto wanted to tell Gladio about the CD Regis had given him. But neither felt right for Prompto to bring up. He felt shameful and heavy with new waves of grief.

Prompto felt a gentle tug on his pajama bottoms. He glanced down to see Josie pawing his calf, wanting a taste of whatever he was eating.

“Don’t give Josie any table food,” Prompto told Gladio, tearing off some toast and popping it in his mouth. “She’s a beggar. She acts like she’s starving but she isn’t.”

Gladio smiled. He would have to remember that; he was a sucker for giving pets treats.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They ate in silence, Prompto nudging Josie away with his leg and Gladio trying to ignore the hidden CD in front of him. When Gladio stood to take his plate to the sink, it was Prompto who broke the ice.

“Noctis did leave a note. You might have seen it last night.”

“I did,” Gladio said, setting his plate in the sink. He remained turned away from Prompto, his eyes stinging. Gladio had cried some the night before but didn’t want to do it again in front of his friend.

“I haven’t listened to it or anything. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do. I - I need to call Regis, make sure he’s okay. I don’t even know how he’s feeling right now.”

“That’d be nice,” Gladio agreed. “This isn’t easy for any of us. You aren’t alone, okay?”

Gladio turned to see Prompto wiping his eyes. He sighed and placed a hand on Prompto’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. There was nothing he could say to make things better, but damn if he didn’t want too.

“I know,” Prompto said, his voice cracking. “But it feels like it. It’s addressed only to me. I feel like it’s my fault or like I’m the only person he wasn’t mad at – I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

“No one blames you,” Gladio said. “Whatever you’re feeling, you got people on your side. Okay?”

“Okay.” Prompto placed his own hand over Gladio’s and squeezed his. “But – I’m here for you guys too, okay? I really am, and I want to be. I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job of showing that, but I am.”

“We know,” Gladio smiled, removing his hand and returning to his seat across from Prompto. “It’s…rough all around. Me and Iggy are trying to keep it together for Iris’s sake, but there are times we just crack.”

Gladio cleared his throat and shifted. It wasn’t like him to talk about this sort of stuff with anyone but Ignis, but Prompto just felt like someone you could talk to. Gladio had always thought that about him.

“Every couple mornings,” Gladio continued. “Ignis just doesn’t want to get out of bed. It doesn’t seem like him, you know? I turn his alarm off for him and pull the covers off, lift him by his arms. Once I get in the shower with him it’s alright. I think just getting out of bed is the hardest part sometimes, you know?”

“I do,” Prompto said. His hands had reached forward and his fingers played with the paper towel. He never would have guess Ignis suffered so bad in the mornings, or at all. “Is it Noctis, or…?”

“It’s a lot of things,” Gladio sighed. He rubbed his face with his hands. “He’s had a lot of responsibility his entire life. The fact that his parents sent him to boarding schools every year and on vacations with nannies when he was on break didn’t really help. They practically threw him out in the world with a credit card and figured that’d be enough.”

Prompto chewed his lower lip and avoided Gladio’s eye. When he was younger, he wished more than once that he was orphan like the man in front of him, or far away from his parents like the man he respected. Prompto had dreamed of having money to take care of himself – just enough to never be cold, or hungry, or sleeping in a car.

Prompto dreamed of having parents that loved him like Noctis did. It seemed like no one had it easy, and Prompto wasn’t sure how to handle all the emotions swelling in his chest at the realization.

“What about you?” Prompto asked. He watched as Gladio’s cheeks darkened. “How do you handle when it’s rough all around?”

“Eh, you know. Punching stuff. Lifting stuff. Running. Crying. Man stuff.”

“Man stuff.”

“Yeah. I don’t care to cry, it’s just talking about it makes me…you know.”

“Yeah. I think I do.”

Gladio sighed and leaned into his hand, elbow on the table. Prompto rubbed his forehead and licked his swollen lip. It was going to be a long day, and Prompto couldn’t avoid it forever. Thankfully, Gladio must have sensed this.

“Listen, if you need some privacy to…figure stuff out, that’s fine. I just don’t want to leave if…”

“If I got one foot in the bathtub and a toaster in my hand?”

“Funny,” Gladio said, but with a smile.

**

Prompto took his time.

He showered, which always made him feel a little better. He walked and fed Josie, then called Regis. The man wasn’t feeling well, but was “hanging in there”. Prompto wondered how Regis felt knowing there was a note after all this time. Was it better to have a suicide note addressed to you than one addressed to someone else? Guilt still ran through Prompto thickly, and he thought about calling Regis again later to discuss going out and spending time together. It was always Regis calling to make plans; maybe he’d like someone to make plans with him.

Prompto curled in bed, the CD on his index finger and his laptop beside him on Noct’s side of the bed. His heart had swelled seeing his pet name for Noct as the signature, mostly because Noctis had hated it. Prompto had only called him that a handful of times.

He felt a cold nose against his elbow. He lifted the covers so Josie could curl beside his legs, but she stared at him instead.

“I’m getting around to it,” Prompto told her.

Satisfied with his answer, Josie curled under the blanket in her usual spot. Prompto inserted his headphones into the jack and the CD in the slot quickly, trying hard to pretend this was just a CD, not some strange suicide note. Prompto wondered when Noctis even had the time to make such a thing. It wasn’t uncommon for Noctis to put playlists on blank CDs – he said it was romantic and nostalgic, like making cassette mixtapes – and it was possible this was premade and written on. It could be a CD Prompto had already listened too. Prompto tried to keep that in mind as the music loaded and the first song played.

It took him a moment, but he recognized the track. It was My Chemical Romance – Helena, Prompto was sure.

Prompto closed his eyes and laid back. Okay. He could handle this. Although he knew the lyrics and memories were buzzing in his mind, he listened to the entire song. Noctis deserved that much. Besides, it wasn’t a terrible song or anything.

The second track Prompto didn’t recognize until the chorus. He had definitely heard it, but on a show or even in passing. Hell, it may have been something Noctis had sung to him one time or another.

_And so, Sally can wait –_   
_She knows it’s too late as we’re walking on by_   
_Her soul slides away, but don’t look back in anger_   
_I heard you say_

Prompto let the disc play through. There were eleven songs; some he recognized and some he didn’t. Each song pulled something from him, a yearning he couldn’t quite place. It took Prompto a moment to realize it was like Noctis was speaking to him, and had been for some time – the journals, the poetry, and now the music.

Even with all of Noct’s things gone, parts of him were still with Prompto, and he thought they always would be. A small, small part of Prompto was grateful, and as he began to cry, the small part grew. Noctis was dead, but that didn’t mean he was gone entirely. Some of the songs Noctis had left made Prompto cry, but the last two had almost been upbeat in a sense. He didn’t recognize either track, but after a few quick searches of the lyrics, Prompto had every track on the CD.

Prompto found a pen and paper and wrote them down in order.

1\. Helena (So Long and Good Night) – My Chemical Romance  
2\. Don’t Look Back in Anger – Oasis  
3\. Ride – Lana Del Rey  
4\. The Nobodies – Marilyn Manson  
5\. Hate Me – Blue October  
6\. Too High – Blackberry Smoke  
7\. Black Beauty – Lana Del Rey  
8\. The Sound of Silence – Disturbed  
9\. Hurt – Johnny Cash  
10\. A Long December – Counting Crows  
11\. Stop Crying Your Heart Out – Oasis

“He hated that,” Prompto mumbled to Josie, who was sniffing his wet chin. “He always had to have a track list, even for his own CDs.”

Prompto kissed her head, and against his better judgement, began playing the CD again. He focused on the lyrics and tried to figure out how these songs could pertain to Noctis in the last hours of his life. _Hate Me_ and _Too High_ were probably the hardest to listen to again. The songs made Prompto think Noctis knew he had problems that were bigger than him. _Black Beauty_ made Prompto’s chest ache – it was as though the singer had known Noctis personally. Noctis had even commented that once. He had told Prompto Lana Del Rey knew him well, and he never thought to listen to her.

Maybe Prompto didn’t listen to him, either.

After the second listen, Prompto shut his laptop and left it on the bed. He walked to the small bedroom and sat on the bed, idly flipping through the pages of the poetry. Prompto had an idea for the poetry, but with the songs in the picture now it brought new ideas and setbacks. Prompto had an itch, one he hadn’t had in some time. He wanted to create something. He just wasn’t sure what. An idea was forming in his mind, one he had been desperately trying to ignore since his conversation with Gladio, since reading the poetry when Regis returned the book, but it was still very much there, an itch all its own. He wasn’t sure why he was thinking this; he hadn’t thought about it in months, even when Noctis died.

Prompto was still grieving, but would what he wanted to do help, or hurt worse?

Prompto put the thought aside as best as he could and picked up where he left off, reading the poems two or three times and marking the ones he thought he could create something with.

_And she dissected me_   
_Plucked the pieces that tasted best._   
_She dissected me_   
_Bruised, bleeding, weeping._   
_She dissected me_   
_A breathing corpse for the flies and vultures._   
_She dissected me_   
_Small and broken, to carry all the shame._

Prompto’s vision blurred. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. He wasn’t sure if he could do something with this or not, but it was the most direct poem he had read so far. No guessing what the underlying meaning was here.

_I got a chill the first time he kissed me._   
_I did yesterday, too_

Prompto read that one, again and again. He had feared finding a poem about himself but hadn’t expected one to be so romantic. It put him in mind of Emily Dickinson, but Prompto almost felt guilty for thinking that. Every artist was their own person.

_Some nights sleep washes over me like a warm breeze, and some nights the darkness has me by the throat_

Prompto marked the page carefully.

_She ripped off my wings and told me to buy them back_

A taste rose in Prompto’s mouth. He marked the page, but wasn’t sure how to turn that one into art. The words were scrawled and Prompto could feel Noctis’s anger on the page. Prompto had never hated that woman more than he did now.

Prompto continued to read, but it wasn’t long before he noticed a trend in the writing – the poetry was becoming more positive.

_And the bad days are still bad_   
_But the good days are better_

Prompto smiled despite himself, marking the page.

_I’ve hid my scars and I’ve had them on display, but nothing feels better than having them on paper_

Prompto read a few more. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or not. Noct’s pain seemed to be receding, so why had he done what he did? Was his pain really going away, or was he just trying to be better to no avail? It wasn’t like Prompto could ask. Prompto read until the last poem, and marked that one as well.

_My lonesome has claws_

Prompto held the book in his hands. It held almost everything Prompto never knew about the man he loved dearly, and there were still more questions than answers. He had an insight he hadn’t had before, a deeper understanding to things he hadn’t wanted to understand until now. Maybe he was ignorant or just afraid, but the thought he had when he was talking to Gladio came back, and he knew he couldn’t ignore it, no matter the outcome.

Even with a throbbing head and swollen lip, Prompto quickly dressed. He knew he needed rest and something to eat, especially with work tomorrow, but he slid his shoes on and called Josie. He slipped her leash on and led her to his hatchback.

They drove for forty five minutes, Prompto needed GPS until they reached the familiar town. Some things had changed, but most hadn’t. Prompto navigated the streets until he found the road he was looking for. He could easily be wasting his time – he didn’t even know if they still lived here or not. But as he eased in the drive way and saw the broken-down truck, he knew they were still here. He put his car in park behind it and picked up Josie.

“It’s now or never, Miss Josie.”

Prompto walked up the brick steps, ignoring the empty beer bottle left on one and the knocked over glider on the dirty porch. Prompto couldn’t ignore the cardboard that had replaced the bottom frame of the screen door, or the duct tape holding together the bottom of the closest window. It wasn’t that he was particularly embarrassed; most of the houses on the street looked like this. Prompto knocked, and waited.

The front door peeked open, and Prompto saw his own blue eyes staring back, just with decorative dark circles underneath. The door opened a little more to reveal fuller lips and a smaller nose, but Prompto’s face all the same. The lines on her face had gotten deeper, her blonde hair a little thinner – hell, all of her thinner, if that were possible, but it was her. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. For a moment, Prompto mirrored her exactly. He closed his mouth and swallowed deeply.

“Hey, mama. Can I come in?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> The second to last chapter is here! Please be warned there's some pretty heavy child abuse and death in this chapter. It was probably one of the hardest chapters to write so far, so sorry if it seems a little sloppy, but I hope you enjoy it all the same! I appreciate all the comments and kudos and hits - you guys are awesome. <3

Josie appeared to be the only one who wasn’t slightly uncomfortable.

Prompto’s mother – Amare – was cuddling Josie to her chest, kissing her head and cooing. Prompto sat stiffly in one of the mix matched chairs at the kitchen table, trying not to appear anxious. Amare had hardly spoken a few words to Prompto in the past ten minutes. Prompto didn’t take offense; his mother has always been like that with animals. Josie accepted the cuddling and cooing graciously.

“So someone just abandoned her without a second thought?” Amare asked. Prompto assumed she was asking him, although she wasn’t making eye contact.

“It seems that way.” Prompto scratched his cheek, staring at some of the usual clutter on the kitchen table. Lots of mail, a few coffee mugs. It was as though the past few years nothing in the house had changed. “Where’s dad at?”

“Kentucky. Your grandma died.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. You want somethin’ to drink? I know you don’t like coffee but I got some tea.”

“Tea sounds good.”

Prompto turned as his mother walked to the fridge, still carrying Josie. Amare was thin enough to practically see through. Prompto caught a glance at food in the refrigerator – actual food, not just condiments and random left overs – and turned back around.

Prompto and his mother shared tea in silence. Prompto didn’t feel particularly bad about his grandmother dying; he had never met her or spoken to her that he could remember. Which was strange, considering they didn’t live but an hour or so away. Prompto always assumed his lack of close family came from his parents being drug addicted assholes, but he wanted to give his parents the benefit of doubt, at least this one time.

“Was dad and his mom close ever? I never really knew her.”

Amare pet Josie behind one of her ears. She had pulled her long blond hair over her left shoulder and Prompto could see a little more of her face. Despite the thinness of her face and the dark circles and wrinkles, she didn't have any marks or blemishes that came from heavy drug use. Prompto had easily caught glances of her bare arms and didn't see track marks or bruises from her husband.

“Your dad really didn’t want you to know her. She was just an old bitch.”

“Oh.”

Amare sighed, shifting Josie in her lap.

“She drank, a lot, in a time where women weren’t supposed to drink. Or do anything other than birth and raise, and care for their husbands. She used to lock your dad in closets and all kinds of shit like that. Your granddad died in a minin’ accident back in…’76 or ’79, I can’t remember. Your dad has only talked to me about it a handful of times.”

 _He’s never talked to me about it at all_ , Prompto thought. He pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on all the new information he was learning all at once.

“Any way, your dad was about seven at the time, and your grandma a widow. Believe it or not she was already drinkin’ and abusive long before her husband was killed. His death just made it worse. She just quit tryin’ to hide it after that. Your dad was fourteen when Stella was killed, and I think that’s what really broke him – that and your grandmother gettin’ away with it. He really just gave up after that and got out of town a few years later.”

“Who?” Prompto asked, genuinely confused. Josie shuffled some and Amare let her down. Josie ran to Prompto and scratched his calves until he lifted her into his own lap.

“She’s a spoiled little thing,” Amare said with a smile.

“Who was Stella?” Prompto asked. “I – I’ve never heard of her before.”

Amare shifted in her seat and ran her hands through her hair. It wasn’t something she liked talking about, but her son deserved to know. It was bad enough they kept him from it for so long, even if it was for his own good. Amare had always known they were bad parents – it didn’t take a genius to figure that out. But was it better to know these kinds of things about your family, or not know your family at all? She and her husband had agreed on the latter long ago, for his own safety. But looking at the man in front of her she knew he deserved to know.

Amare, if nothing else, always wanted to protect her son. She could see his swollen lip and the darkened cheek and felt a pain in her stomach, but Prompto hadn’t mentioned these things and she knew that wasn’t why he was here. Prompto was level headed, and smart, and artistic, and so many other things she knew she had little to do with. If she could do nothing else for him, she wanted to give him the truth.

“Stella would have been your aunt, honey,” Amare began slowly. “She was your dad’s little sister, about five years younger. She was born with a learnin’ disability of some sort – they didn’t really know back then. Could have been all the drinkin’ and smokin’ your grandma was doing, the lead paint everyone used back then, the minin’ dust your granddad brought home. Or it coulda been just how it was. Life’s like that, I know you know.”

“I do.” Prompto spoke softly.

“Well, she was hard to take care of. Didn’t start talkin’ til she was around five or six and never quite got the hang of usin’ the bathroom on her own. Or, really, doin’ anything on her own, accordin’ to your dad. Her face was…rather disfigured, and your grandparents didn’t take her out and they couldn’t put her in public school. All that didn’t help any. Got to the point where they kept her in diapers and just locked her in that room by herself, unless she needed fed or somethin’. Your dad didn’t really know what to do – he was a kid himself, and he was afraid of his mama.”

Prompto held Josie a little tighter. She peppered her nose against the underside of his chin as he stroked her back. His mother looked sad, almost guilty, as if she knew this was something Prompto had deserved to know all along. Prompto wasn’t so sure. He was glad to know now, for what it was worth, but he wasn’t sure how he would have handled this ten years ago. Amare smiled at Josie and tried to remember the last time she kissed her son. It pained her that she couldn’t remember.

“When she was eight, she got real sick somehow. Hard to tell what it was. The night she died your dad walked in the kitchen while his mom was makin’ her something to eat and he saw her put somethin’ in the food. He said he didn’t really think nothin’ of it until the next mornin’ when she was dead. His mom said she died in her sleep and I don’t guess anyone really looked into it that much. Everyone knew about Stella and that she was, you know, different. They had a funeral and after that no one seemed to talk about it. Your dad felt a lot of guilt, especially when he got older and learned how people with learnin’ disabilities and the like can still learn and be their own person. Stella may have never been able to be totally independent, but there were things she could have learned if she had been taken care of better.”

Amare ran her fingers through her hair again, afraid to look at her son. It was a lot of information all at once, and she still didn’t even know why he was here to begin with.

“I’m glad you told me, mama,” Prompto said. “How’s dad, though?”

“He’s alright, far as I know,” Amare answered. “He’s been doing a lot better – we both are.”

“That’s good, mama.”

“What about you?” Amare asked after a few moments. “How have you been?”

“Better, too. I’m trying to get better. My boyfriend killed himself a few months ago and I don’t really know what to do.”

Amare nodded, her lips meeting in a thin line. She knew there was nothing she could do or say that could possibly take away her son’s pain, but she wanted to. She had let him down again and again, and the one time he comes to her, there is nothing she can do. Amare is quiet, trying to think, trying to put herself in the position of her son. It’s hard; she doesn’t know him very well. But she tries.

“I can’t take away anything,” she whispers. “And I can’t give a lot. But I love you, and I’m glad you’re here. I really missed you.”

“I missed you too, mama. I love you, too.”

Tears were stinging Prompto’s eyes and he tried to stop them. There was a lump rising in his throat; he didn’t want to cry in front of his mother. He wanted to hate her, he truly did. He wanted to hang on to the childhood he never had and shove it in her face. But one look at her and she knew. Prompto was certain his mother knew. And for some reason, that alone made things a little better.

“Can I get to know you?” Amare asked, her blue eyes meeting her sons red ones. “I knew you some as a child, but not as much as I should have. I’d like to know you now.”

Prompto began to cry then. It wasn’t much, but enough to make Amare begin crying too. In her heart she would always be a terrible mother. She couldn’t give back all the things Prompto had missed. But she wanted to try to help now. If he rejected that, she couldn’t really blame him. Amare knew she probably couldn’t have a normal mother and son relationship – whatever that was – but he deserved to have someone on his side, someone rooting for him. Her son deserved the family he never had, even if it was only her.  
Prompto dried his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“I’m gay, mama. And I dropped out of college. I like to paint, and take pictures. I work in a factory doing something anyone off the street can do. On the weekends I watch home repair shows with my dog.”

Amare smiled, nodding her head and wiping her own cheeks.

“What about friends, honey?”

“I have a few,” Prompto smiled. Amare felt a wave of relief. “They’re gay, too. They were friends with my boyfriend. And his dad – Noctis’s dad, Regis – he and I have been getting close since he died. Everyone’s trying…I don’t really know what we’re trying, but we’re trying. I guess we’re trying to find normal again.”

“I think you’ll find it,” Amare said, leaning forward on her elbows. “You just can’t expect it to be the same.”

Prompto smiled at his mother and laid his hand on the table between them. Amare carefully laid her hand on top of his own.

“What about you?” Prompto asked. “I’d like to know you now.”

Amare began to cry again, but she smiled.

“I’m a recovering drug addict. I’ve been sober almost a year. I work in a department store doing somethin’ anyone with patience can do. I’m terrible at cleanin’ house and hate cookin’, and I’ve always liked animals more than people. I wasn’t an amazing mother, but I’m very, very proud of my son.”

“I’m proud of you too, mama.”

And he was.

**

Regis listened carefully, fully ignoring his Coke and hot wings as Prompto told him about the CD.

“I’m real sorry you had to go through that,” Regis whispered. “I – I thought I checked everywhere. If I had found it months ago maybe none of this would be so hard.”

“I’m glad you gave it to me,” Prompto said, glancing at his own untouched food. “It would have been hard to live with alone.”

“It wasn’t mine,” Regis said with a shrug. “I’m just glad there was nothing angry on there. I was afraid I was leaving you with something you’d never be able to let go of.”

Prompto began to pick at his food and Regis did the same. They may as well eat some of it. Regis wasn’t sure if he should ask about Prompto’s mother; Regis knew he had went to see her and they hadn’t gotten along in the past, but Prompto hadn’t really brought it up in depth. The last thing he wanted was to push him.

“So,” Regis tried to say casually. “You mentioned seeing your mother today. Did it…go well? You’ve never really talked about her.”

Prompto nodded his head, his mouth full.

“She’s better than I thought. We aren’t really close, and still aren’t, but I’d like to have some sort of relationship with both my parents.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Regis said with a smile.

The two talked about work and Josie and a new restaurant that opened up on the other side of town for the next forty-five minutes. They both left much happier than they had come. Still, as Prompto drove home, a thought was nagging in the back of his mind.

He wasn’t quite sure what he had been looking for returning to his parents’ house, or if he had even found it. Both his parents had been sober for some time, and he hadn’t been expecting that, or for his mother to be so excepting of him after all this time. He had their number and he would call tomorrow after work. If his mother didn’t answer or call back, he wasn’t sure what he would do. He didn’t want to be hurt again.

Prompto wasn’t sure if he could forgive them. He knew he didn’t have too. But he also knew people weren’t black and white.

It took him some time, but Prompto realized what he had been in search for when he came home to Josie.

He had been looking for hope, of some kind. Maybe his parents were sober, maybe they weren’t. If they weren’t sober, then he would know some people can’t be saved. Prompto believed that deeply. But if they were, then maybe people could change, could be saved, if given enough opportunities and time. Some people required more than others, but that didn’t mean they weren’t worth saving.

It was a work night and Prompto knew he’d have hell in the morning, but he began setting up his paint easel in the spare room, his mothers last words before he left rattling around in his mind. Leave it to a mother to say the words you didn’t know you needed.

After several more minutes of setting up, Prompto began to paint.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> So this is it! I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate every hit, kudos, and comment. You have really motivated me to keep up with this fic and I hope the ending is to everyone's liking! I plan on posting more one shots later on but focusing on my imagines blog, promptoschocohoe.tumblr.com. If you like send a request there and it should be fulfilled!  
> Thank you so much, there's no way I could have finished this without you <3

Prompto stretched and yawned, his arms curling behind his head. The sun was just beginning to set. Prompto swatted a bee away from his Dr. Pepper and stood back up, looking down the road.

He sat back down on his steps – the ones that he built himself, that attached to the porch he built himself as well. It had taken him almost a month, given his work hours changing, the heat, and him not really knowing what the hell he was doing. But he had finished before August, which was his goal. Prompto was beginning to make goals and was finding it easier and easier to keep them as the months wore on.

Prompto was nervous, but not terribly so. His new roommate was going to be arriving sometime soon. He had met her through Regis and Gladio, and they had met up at a diner last week to talk about splitting bills and food and that sort of thing. She seemed to be alright. She was the granddaughter of the mechanic Regis had been seeing for years and he had confided in Prompto that she was going through some hard times and could use a fresh start. She could live at her granddad’s place, but she’d be sleeping on the couch and, well, living with her granddad as well as working with him.

Prompto couldn’t imagine being around someone that much all the time, except maybe Josie. Everyone needed their space. Prompto understood that entirely.

Prompto also understood their hours were vastly different, so they may not even see each other that much. Her busiest days were Saturday and Sunday, where she worked ten hours. She had most Mondays off and didn’t go into work most days until ten in the morning or so, and said she didn’t mind taking care of a dog. She seemed genuinely sweet, and Prompto was actually a little excited.

After a few minutes, Prompto saw an old truck making its way down the road. The truck was a ‘70 Ford and a rust red. He knew the make and model only because she had spent several minutes talking about it at the restaurant – not that Prompto minded; he spent as much time talking about Josie. Prompto stood and waved as the truck pulled into the driveway. She waved before stepping out of her truck, grabbing a duffel bag in the passenger seat and pulling it out with her.

“Cindy!” Prompto called. “Good to have you.”

“Thanks!” She smiled, shutting her truck door and adjusting her baseball cap. “It’s good to be here. It’s a cute place!”

“Come in, let’s get out of the heat,” Prompto offered.

Prompto noticed several things, but decided not to bring them up. He noticed one of Cindy’s cheeks was dark and swollen, and the knuckles on her right hand were bruised. Prompto also noticed the duffel bag was her only form of luggage, and it didn’t appear to be bursting at the seams. As much as these things bothered Prompto, he smiled and held the door open for his new roommate instead of bringing these small details up. Maybe she’d talk, maybe she wouldn’t. Prompto knew there was no point in pressing her when they didn’t know each other on a personal level.

In under thirty seconds, Josie had managed to find her way in Cindy’s arms, sniffing her chin and nose while the woman cooed and kissed her head, duffle bag forgotten on the living room floor. Prompto was certain Cindy and Josie would get along well.

Prompto ordered pizza as the two sat on the couch, Josie running between them to receive twice as many pets from each of them. Cindy was sitting on the edge of the cushion, somewhat folding into herself. Prompto hoped she felt comfortable here soon. Josie took turns snuggling them both and Prompto thought about how much she would have loved Noctis and how much he would have loved her.

Those thoughts didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“I can show you your room,” Prompto offered. “A tour isn’t really necessary, but I can still show you around.”

“That’d be wonderful,” Cindy smiled. “And I’d like to see some of your paintin’s, if they ain’t too personal.”

Prompto couldn’t hold back his smile.

“Absolutely.”

Prompto was nervous showing Cindy her room, although he had stressed at the diner that it wasn’t much and had been his spare art room. It was small and bare, but Cindy flopped on the twin sized bed and sighed contently.

“Somethin’ all to myself,” she smiled, stretching her arms across the bed. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“No, it’s alright,” Prompto laughed. “The blankets and stuff are new, but I left everything else blank so you can, you know, decorate it yourself.”

Cindy sat up slowly, her eyes on the floor. She chewed her lower lip a moment before she spoke.

“You know, I almost don’t know what to do with all this blank. I’m so used to other people tellin’ me what to fill it with I’ve never had the option to do it myself.”

“We can go shopping!” Prompto offered. “Craft stores have a lot of fun stuff, or even Target! That’d be fun, right?”

Cindy laughed, red rushing to her cheeks.

“What, was that too gay?” Prompto asked, causing Cindy to laugh harder.

“That – that’d be fun,” Cindy agreed, snorting once. “I could use all the help I can get decoratin’ this cozy room.”

The two talked about ideas until Josie alerted them that the pizza had arrived. They ate at the kitchen table, not bothering with plates as they shared pizza and cheese sticks between them. Conversation shifted easily as Prompto told her about the first Saturday of the month spent with his friends.

“Cards Against Humanity?” Cindy asked, plucking a piece of green pepper off her pizza and setting it back in the box. Prompto would try to remember that.

“It’s so fun,” Prompto gushed. “I think you’ll like it. It’s – it’s kind of offensive, you know, but it’s fun. Hell, even Iggy likes it.”

Prompto explained the rules and described some of the white cards he thought was funny. Cindy seemed interested and promised to play next weekend if she wasn’t too tired. She knew Ignis and Gladio some, some that helped ease her nerves. Cindy hadn’t had friends in a long time – longer than she cared to admit. But she felt safe here. She almost felt at home.

She could make a home here. She was certain of it.

Once the boxes were empty Prompto rose to show her his room, where Josie liked to hide when the vacuum came on and where the breaker was.

“I don’t really know why it’s all the way back here,” Prompto admitted, opening his closet door and showing her the black box on the wall. “But if you’re ever home alone and the heat’s not working or the hot water – well, you know what a breaker box is for.”

“Glad to know,” Cindy smiled. “But how do I get Josie out from under the bed?”

“Ah – once the vacuum’s off she gets brave. If that doesn’t work a treat will.”

Cindy smiled, but she couldn’t avoid the paintings that hung on the bedroom wall or the chair and easel that sat in one corner, a small table with cups and brushes beside it. Some of the painting were gruesome – one depicted a torso cut open with vultures and crows helping themselves to whatever remained of the inside - while others were simple landscapes and portraits.

On the wall with the headboard was also decorated with photographs. Plenty of Josie and the girl Cindy recognized as Gladio’s sister, but couldn’t name. There were a few selfie shots with him and they guys, and a few people she didn’t recognize at all. There were a few pictures of Prompto kissing or cuddling a boy Cindy could only imagine was Noctis. Once picture caught her eye, and she spoke before she thought she was being nosy.

“Oh! That’s a handsome picture of you and Regis! Who took that?”

Color drew to Cindy’s cheeks as Prompto smiled.

“Iris is a budding photographer, just like her Uncle Prommy. That was taken on her birthday – she said she was tired of having her picture taken and wanted to take some on her own.”

“She’s cute,” Cindy smiled. “So – are these your paintin’s? They’re awfully pretty.”

It was Prompto’s turn to blush as he began to talk about his artwork. He was nervous; most of them were pieces based off Noctis’s poetry and he hadn’t really discussed them with anyone. He liked them, though. Prompto wasn’t sure if it was taking Noct’s pain and making something out of it that helped his grief, or just making art again, but the past few months had begun to get easier.

Not that it was all forgotten. Prompto still had dreams, and lost hopes, and a small, small pain of guilt. But he was growing, and everyone else was too.

Cindy’s favorite was the portrait of Josie, done in blues and greens and yellows. It was her and not her at the same time.

“Yeah, that was a fun one,” Prompto admitted. “I did that one in between the crow one here and black ocean over there. Lots of dark stuff, you know? I wanted something bright – something happy, I guess.”

Cindy nodded, quickly glancing at all the other paintings on the walls.

“Did you start painting the darker things after…?”

The question didn’t need to be finished. Prompto had explained why he had a spare room without going into great detail, but it was obvious the pain was still there. No one got over the death of someone they loved greatly within a matter of months, if at all. Cindy wanted Prompto to know he could talk to her, even if they barely knew each other. They’d be living together, they may as well get to know each other on personal terms.

Maybe Prompto needed another friend just as badly as Cindy needed one at all.

“I’ve always liked doing darker work,” Prompto began slowly, shifting his feet. “I actually quit for a while cause of work and stuff. After Noctis died I had a lot of spare time and a lot of grief.”

“You sure did something beautiful with it.”

**

Cindy tossed and turned some, not used to the new bed. Her jaw ached some, and her knuckles too, even two days later. Prompto seemed safe. That alone was certain. She could handle her own – her knuckles were evidence of that – but she was sick of handling her own on her own all the time. She was tired. Cindy was tired of working and coming home to relationships that felt like a second job. She was tired of getting her hopes up just to be let down. She was tired of half hearted promises and settling for being on the back burner, even from herself.

Cindy looked up to Prompto greatly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had time for a hobby. She was nervous about asking Prompto for help with one, especially since she had never really been an artsy person. She could barely put eyeliner on. But she could take up something, couldn’t she? No one was stopping her now.

Prompto was tossing and turning himself. As odd as it sounded, having the paintings of Noctis’s poems made him feel as though Noctis was with him. That feeling along with Josie beside him was often enough to lull him to sleep, but tonight it wasn’t working too well.

Prompto wasn’t sure what it was exactly. He still had bad days. Prompto knew that was normal. But he had Regis, and Gladio, and Ignis, and sometimes he even went to his mom. His dad was still a learning curve, but at least they were speaking to each other. Prompto’s art had saved him. Josie had saved him. Having a schedule saved him. The words his mom spoke to him several months ago saved him more than he could admit; he spoke them to himself when he thought he couldn’t get out bed or do anything ever again.

_He took his life, but don’t loose yours, too._

Prompto sighed heavily. He sat up slowly, carefully getting out of bed as not to wake up Josie. She tended to sleep at Prompto’s feet, but liked to get up when Prompto got up, even if she just followed him to the bathroom. The lump in the blankets remained still as Prompto softly opened his bedroom door and made his way to the kitchen.

The stove read it was 11:45. Prompto was content on not sleeping for a while, but he didn’t want to wake up his new roommate. The last thing he wanted was for her to think he creeped around in the dead of night. Prompto was suddenly aware and thankful he was in sleeping bottoms instead of his usual boxers.

“Hey.”

Prompto was not proud of the noise he made, although it was totally justified. He was proud of Josie though, for coming to his rescue and nearly taking out Cindy’s ankle. Once Josie was calmed down and Prompto’s heart rate had gone to normal, the three sat on the couch and it was nearly midnight.

“I’m so sorry,” Cindy said again. “I – I should have said something else, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake.”

“I’m sorry about Josie,” Prompto laughed nervously. “She’s never done that before. I’m glad you’re in sweatpants.”

“She was just doing her job,” Cindy smiled. “I ain’t mad at her or even hurt. Just glad she didn’t get the notion to latch on or anything.”

They sat in silence a moment, Josie in Cindy’s lap, asking for forgiveness. Cindy held her closely and scratched behind her tiny ear. Prompto cleared his throat.

“So – uh, did I wake you up? If I did I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh – no, actually, I was still up. I have trouble sleepin’ some nights.”

“Yeah, me too.”

The only light on was the one in the kitchen and it cast a soft glow on the two of them. They were comfortable in their pajamas and with each other. The pressures that had kept them up were suddenly put at bay.

“So what do you do when you can’t sleep?” Prompto asked softly.

“Turn on the T.V,” Cindy smiled. “I just watch somethin’ until I can’t keep my eyes open.”

Prompto leaned forward, picking up the remote from the coffee table and turning on the television. He handed the remote to Cindy, who took it slowly.

“What should we watch?” Prompto asked kindly. “I’m up for whatever. I got some popcorn if you want some.”

Even once the popcorn was ready, soda dispensed, and pillows and blankets thrown comfortably on the couch, they still weren’t sure what to watch. They flicked through the guide at a slow pace before Prompto saw Cindy perk up.

“Oh! The Sixth Sense!”

“Never watched it,” Prompto admitted. “I think Noctis had it though, or maybe Gladio.”

“It’s so good!” Cindy gushed. “You know, the “ _I see dead people_ ” thing? This is that movie.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They had to wait another fifteen minutes for the movie to start, but Josie kept them plenty company. They talked about nothing in particular until the movie started, and Prompto was drawn in almost immediately. Cindy and Prompto shared blankets and popcorn and neither thought about the things that had brought them to where they were now.

Things were okay, and that would be enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys,  
> So obviously this is much darker than my usual forte, but I hope it's liked all the same. This will be multi chapter but I'm not sure how many just yet. The first chapter may be one of the longest; again I'm not sure just yet. Of course, the emotions portrayed in this fic are based off my own feelings toward a similar situation and are not cut and dry reactions and feelings. There is no right or wrong way to express grief. It's been somewhat of a relief to write and I hope this helps others as well.  
> Thanks!


End file.
